THE 

SEA 
WOLF 


JACK 
LONDON 


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THE    SEA-WOLF 


Frontispiece.  See  page  284. 

"THE  HUT'S  WALLS   ROSE  WITHOUT  DIFFICULTY." 


THE    SEA-WOLF 


BY 


JACK   LONDON 

AUTHOR  OF  "  THE  CALL  OF  THE  WILD,"  "  PEOPLE  OF  THE  ABYSS/1 
"CHILDREN  OF  THE  FROST,"   ETC. 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY  W.  /.  AYLWARD 


NEW   YORK 

GROSSET    &    DUNLAP 
PUBLISHERS 


COPYMGHT,  1904, 

BY  JACK  LONDON. 

COPYRIGHT,  1903,  1904, 
BY  THE  CENTURY  COMPANY. 

COPYRIGHT,  1904, 
BY  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 

Set  up  and  electrotyped.    Published  October,  1904.     Reprinted 
October,  November,  December,  1904 ;  June,  1906. 


tfortooob 

J.  8.  Gushing  &  Co.  — Berwick  &  Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


UBR 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 

«  The  hut's  walls  rose  without  difficulty        ,         .        .        Frontispiece 

FACING  PAGE 

"  <  Ahoy !  Take  me  ashore !  A  thousand  dollars  if  you  take  me 

ashore!1" '  3° 

«  His  face  was  convulsed  and  white,  his  eyes  were  flashing,  his 

clenched  fists  raised  overhead" Il6 

"At  any  moment  they  were  liable  to  be  overwhelmed  by  the  hiss- 
ing combers"  ...  I84 

•< .  The  Kanaka,  hanging  on  with  one  hand,  seized  the  Cock- 
ney's foot  with  the  other  " 202 

«  He  saw  Wolf  Larsen's  rifle  bearing  upon  him  "  .        .        -        .234 


,'Kfeu  r 


THE  SEA-WOLF 


CHAPTER   I 

I  SCARCELY  know  where  to  begin,  though  I  sometimes 
facetiously  place  the  cause  of  it  all  to  Charley  Furuseth's 
credit.  He  kept  a  summer  cottage  in  Mill  Valley,  under 
the  shadow  of  Mount  Tamalpais,  and  never  occupied  it 
except  when  he  loafed  through  the  winter  months  and  read 
Nietzsche  and  Schopenhauer  to  rest  his  brain.  When 
summer  came  on,  he  elected  to  sweat  out  a  hot  and  dusty 
existence  in  the  city  and  to  toil  incessantly.  Had  it  not 
been  my  custom  to  run  up  to  see  him  every  Saturday  after- 
noon and  to  stop  over  till  Monday  morning,  this  particular 
January  Monday  morning  would  not  have  found  me  afloat 
on  San  Francisco  Bay. 

Not  but  that  I  was  afloat  in  a  safe  craft,  for  the  Martinez 
was  a  new  ferry-steamer,  making  her  fourth  or  fifth  trip  on 
the  run  between  Sausalito  and  San  Francisco.  The  dangei 
lay  in  the  heavy  fog  which  blanketed  the  bay,  and  of  which, 
as  a  landsman,  I  had  little  apprehension.  In  fact,  I  re- 
member the  placid  exaltation  with  which  I  took  up  my 
position  on  the  forward  upper  deck,  directly  beneath  the 
pilot-house,  and  allowed  the  mystery  of  the  fog  to  lay  hold 
of  my  imagination.  A  fresh  breeze  was  blowing,  and  for 
a  time  I  was  alone  in  the  moist  obscurity  —  yet  not  alone, 
for  I  was  dimly  conscious  of  the  presence  of  the  pilot,  and 

B  2 


2  THE  SEA-WOLF 

of  what  I  took  to  be  the  captain,  in  the  glass  house  above 
my  head. 

I  remember  thinking  how  comfortable  it  was,  this  divi- 
sion of  labor  which  made  it  unnecessary  for  me  to  study 
fogs,  winds,  tides,  and  navigation,  in  order  to  visit  my 
friend  who  lived  across  an  arm  of  the  sea.  It  was  good 
that  men  should  be  specialists,  I  mused.  The  peculiar 
knowledge  of  the  pilot  and  captain  sufficed  for  many 
thousands  of  people  who  knew  no  more  of  the  sea  and 
navigation  than  I  knew.  On  the  other  hand,  instead  of 
having  to  devote  my  energy  to  the  learning  of  a  multitude 
of  things,  I  concentrated  it  upon  a  few  particular  things, 
such  as,  for  instance,  the  analysis  of  Poe's  place  in  Ameri- 
can literature  —  an  essay  of  mine,  by  the  way,  in  the  cur- 
rent Atlantic.  Coming  aboard,  as  I  passed  through  the 
cabin,  I  had  noticed  with  greedy  eyes  a  stout  gentleman 
reading  the  Atlantic,  which  was  open  at  my  very  essay. 
And  there  it  was  again,  the  division  of  labor,  the  special 
knowledge  of  the  pilot  and  captain  which  permitted  the 
stout  gentleman  to  read  my  special  knowledge  on  Poe 
while  they  carried  him  safely  from  Sausalito  to  San 
Francisco. 

A  red-faced  man,  slamming  the  cabin  door  behind  him 
and  stumping  out  on  the  deck,  interrupted  my  reflections, 
though  I  made  a  mental  note  of  the  topic  for  use  in  a  pro- 
jected essay  which  I  had  thought  of  calling  "  The  Neces- 
sity for  Freedom  :  A  Plea  for  the  Artist."  The  red-faced 
man  shot  a  glance  up  at  the  pilot-house,  gazed  around  at 
the  fog,  stumped  across  the  deck  and  back  (he  evidently 
had  artificial  legs),  and  stood  still  by  my  side,  legs  wide 
apart,  and  with  an  expression  of  keen  enjoyment  on  his 
face.  I  was  not  wrong  when  I  decided  that  his  days  had 
been  spent  on  the  sea. 


THE  SEA-WOLF  3 

"  It's  nasty  weather  like  this  here  that  turns  heads  gray 
before  their  time,"  he  said,  with  a  nod  toward  the  pilot- 
house. 

"  I  had  not  thought  there  was  any  particular  strain,"  I 
answered.  "  It  seems  as  simple  as  A,  B,  C.  They  know 
the  direction  by  compass,  the  distance,  and  the  speed.  I 
should  not  call  it  anything  more  than  mathematical  cer- 
tainty." 

"  Strain ! "  he  snorted.  "  Simple  as  A,  B,  C !  Mathe- 
matical certainty ! " 

He  seemed  to  brace  himself  up  and  lean  backward 
against  the  air  as  he  stared  at  me.  "  How  about  this  here 
tide  that's  rushin'  out  through  the  Golden  Gate  ? "  he  de- 
manded, or  bellowed,  rather.  "  How  fast  is  she  ebbin'  ? 
What's  the  drift,  eh  ?  Listen  to  that,  will  you  ?  A  bell- 
buoy,  and  we're  a-top  of  it !  See  'em  alterin'  the  course !  " 

From  out  of  the  fog  came  the  mournful  tolling  of  a  bell, 
and  I  could  see  the  pilot  turning  the  wheel  with  great 
rapidity.  The  bell,  which  had  seemed  straight  ahead,  was 
now  sounding  from  the  side.  Our  own  whistle  was  blow- 
ing hoarsely,  and  from  time  to  time  the  sound  of  other 
whistles  came  to  us  from  out  of  the  fog. 

"  That's  a  ferry-boat  of  some  sort,"  the  newcomer  said, 
indicating  a  whistle  off  to  the  right.  "  And  there !  D'ye 
hear  that  ?  Blown  by  mouth.  Some  scow  schooner,  most 
likely.  Better  watch  out,  Mr.  Schooner-man.  Ah,  I 
thought  so.  Now  hell's  a-poppin'  for  somebody ! " 

The  unseen  ferry-boat  was  blowing  blast  after  blast, 
and  the  mouth-blown  horn  was  tooting  in  terror-stricken 
fashion. 

"And  now  they're  payin'  their  respects  to  each  other 
and  tryin'  to  get  clear,"  the  red-faced  man  went  on,  as 
the  hurried  whistling  ceased. 


4  THE  SEA-WOLF 

His  face  was  shining,  his  eyes  flashing  with  excitement, 
as  he  translated  into  articulate  language  the  speech  of  the 
horns  and  sirens.  "That's  a  steam  siren  a-goin'  it  over 
there  to  the  left.  And  you  hear  that  fellow  with  a  frog  in 
his  throat  —  a  steam  schooner  as  near  as  I  can  judge, 
crawlin'  in  from  the  Heads  against  the  tide." 

A  shrill  little  whistle,  piping  as  if  gone  mad,  came  from 
directly  ahead  and  from  very  near  at  hand.  Gongs  sounded 
on  the  Martinez.  Our  paddle-wheels  stopped,  their  puls- 
ing beat  died  away,  and  then  they  started  again.  The 
shrill  little  whistle,  like  the  chirping  of  a  cricket  amid  the 
cries  of  great  beasts,  shot  through  the  fog  from  more  to 
the  side  and  swiftly  grew  faint  and  fainter.  I  looked  to 
my  companion  for  enlightenment. 

"  One  of  them  dare-devil  launches,"  he  said.  "  I  almost 
wish  we'd  sunk  him,  the  little  rip !  They're  the  cause  of 
more  trouble.  And  what  good  are  they  ?  Any  jackass 
gets  aboard  one  and  runs  it  from  hell  to  breakfast,  blowin' 
his  whistle  to  beat  the  band  and  tellin*  the  rest  of  the 
world  to  look  out  for  him,  because  he's  comin'  and  can't 
look  out  for  himself !  Because  he's  comin' !  And  you've 
got  to  look  out,  too !  Right  of  way !  Common  decency ! 
They  don't  know  the  meanin'  of  it !  " 

I  felt  quite  amused  at  his  unwarranted  choler,  and  while 
he  stumped  indignantly  up  and  down  I  fell  to  dwelling  upon 
the  romance  of  the  fog.  And  romantic  it  certainly  was  — 
the  fog,  like  the  gray  shadow  of  infinite  mystery,  brooding 
over  the  whirling  speck  of  earth ;  and  men,  mere  motes  of 
light  and  sparkle,  cursed  with  an  insane  relish  for  work, 
riding  their  steeds  of  wood  and  steel  through  the  heart  of 
the  mystery,  groping  their  way  blindly  through  the  Unseen, 
and  clamoring  and  clanging  in  confident  speech  the  while 
their  hearts  are  heavy  with  incertitude  and  fear. 


THE  SEA-WOLF  5 

The  voice  of  my  companion  brought  me  back  to  myself 
with  a  laugh.  I  too  had  been  groping  and  floundering,  the 
while  I  thought  I  rode  clear-eyed  through  the  mystery. 

"  Hello ;  somebody  comhV  our  way,"  he  was  saying. 
'•  And  d'ye  hear  that  ?  He's  comin'  fast.  Walking  right 
along.  Guess  he  don't  hear  us  yet.  Wind's  in  wrong 
direction." 

The  fresh  breeze  was  blowing  right  down  upon  us,  and 
I  could  hear  the  whistle  plainly,  off  to  one  side  and  a  little 
ahead. 

"  Ferry-boat  ? "  I  asked. 

He  nodded,  then  added,  "  Or  he  wouldn't  be  keepin'  up 
such  a  clip."  He  gave  a  short  chuckle.  "  They're  gettin' 
anxious  up  there." 

I  glanced  up.  The  captain  had  thrust  his  head  and 
shoulders  out  of  the  pilot-house,  and  was  staring  intently 
into  the  fog  as  though  by  sheer  force  of  will  he  could 
penetrate  it  His  face  was  anxious,  as  was  the  face  of  my 
companion,  who  had  stumped  over  to  the  rail  and  was 
gazing  with  a  like  intentness  in  the  direction  of  the  invisi- 
ble danger. 

Then  everything  happened,  and  with  inconceivable 
rapidity.  The  fog  seemed  to  break  away  as  though  split 
by  a  wedge,  and  the  bow  of  a  steamboat  emerged,  trailing 
fog-wreaths  on  either  side  like  seaweed  on  the  snout  of 
Leviathan.  I  could  see  the  pilot-house  and  a  white- 
bearded  man  leaning  partly  out  of  it,  on  his  elbows.  He 
was  clad  in  a  blue  uniform,  and  I  remember  noting  how 
trim  and  quiet  he  was.  His  quietness,  under  the  circum- 
stances, was  terrible.  He  accepted  Destiny,  marched 
hand  in  hand  with  it,  and  coolly  measured  the  stroke.  As 
he  leaned  there,  he  ran  a  calm  and  speculative  eye  over  us, 
as  though  to  determine  the  precise  point  of  the  collision, 


6  THE  SEA- WOLF 

and  took  no  notice  whatever  when  our  pilot,  white  with 
rage,  shouted,  "  Now  you've  done  it !  " 

On  looking  back,  I  realize  that  the  remark  was  too 
obvious  to  make  rejoinder  necessary. 

"  Grab  hold  of  something  and  hang  on,"  the  red-faced 
man  said  to  me.  All  his  bluster  had  gone,  and  he  seemed 
to  have  caught  the  contagion  of  preternatural  calm.  "  And 
listen  to  the  women  scream,"  he  said  grimly  —  almost  bit- 
terly, I  thought,  as  though  he  had  been  through  the 
experience  before. 

The  vessels  came  together  before  I  could  follow  his 
advice.  We  must  have  been  struck  squarely  amidships, 
for  I  saw  nothing,  the  strange  steamboat  having  passed 
beyond  my  line  of  vision.  The  Martinez  heeled  over, 
sharply,  and  there  was  a  crashing  and  rending  of  timber. 
I  was  thrown  flat  on  the  wet  deck,  and  before  I  could 
scramble  to  my  feet  I  heard  the  scream  of  the  women. 
This  it  was,  I  am  certain,  —  the  most  indescribable  of 
blood-curdling  sounds,  —  that  threw  me  into  a  panic.  I 
remembered  the  life-preservers  stored  in  the  cabin,  but 
was  met  at  the  door  and  swept  backward  by  a  wild  rush  of 
men  and  women.  What  happened  in  the  next  few  minutes 
I  do  not  recollect,  though  I  have  a  clear  remembrance  of 
pulling  down  life-preservers  from  the  overhead  racks,  while 
the  red-faced  man  fastened  them  about  the  bodies  of  an 
hysterical  group  of  women.  This  memory  is  as  distinct 
and  sharp  as  that  of  any  picture  I  have  seen.  It  is  a  pic- 
ture, and  I  can  see  it  now,  —  the  jagged  edges  of  the  i  '  i 
in  the  side  of  the  cabin,  through  which  the  gray  fog  swirled 
and  eddied ;  the  empty  upholstered  seats,  littered  with  all 
the  evidences  of  sudden  flight,  such  as  packages,  hand 
satchels,  umbrellas,  and  wraps ;  the  stout  gentleman  who 
had  been  reading  my  essay,  encased  in  cork  and  canvas, 


THE  SEA-WOLF  f 

the  magazine  still  in  his  hand,  and  asking  me  with  monoto- 
nous insistence  if  I  thought  there  was  any  danger ;  the 
red-faced  man,  stumping  gallantly  around  on  his  artificial 
legs  and  buckling  life-preservers  on  all  comers ;  and  finally, 
the  screaming  bedlam  of  women. 

This  it  was,  the  screaming  of  the  women,  that  most 
tried  my  nerves.  It  must  have  tried,  too,  the  nerves  of 
the  red-faced  man,  for  I  have  another  picture  which  will 
never  fade  from  my  mind.  The  stout  gentleman  is  stuff- 
ing the  magazine  into  his  overcoat  pocket  and  looking  on 
curiously.  A  tangled  mass  of  women,  with  drawn,  white 
faces  and  open  mouths,  is  shrieking  like  a  chorus  of  lost 
souls;  and  the  red-faced  man,  his  face  now  purplish 
with  wrath,  and  with  arms  extended  overhead  as  in  the 
act  of  hurling  thunderbolts,  is  shouting,  "  Shut  up !  Oh, 
shut  up ! " 

I  remember  the  scene  impelled  me  to  sudden  laughter, 
and  in  the  next  instant  I  realized  I  was  becoming  hysterical 
myself ;  for  these  were  women  of  my  own  kind,  like  my 
mother  and  sisters,  with  the  fear  of  death  upon  them  and 
unwilling  to  die.  And  I  remember  that  the  sounds  they 
made  reminded  me  of  the  squealing  of  pigs  under  the 
knife  of  the  butcher,  and  I  was  struck  with  horror  at 
the  vividness  of  the  analogy.  These  women,  capable 
of  the  most  sublime  emotions,  of  the  tenderest  sympa- 
thies, were  open-mouthed  and  screaming.  They  wanted 
to  live,  they  were  helpless,  like  rats  in  a  trap,  and  they 
screamed. 

The  horror  of  it  drove  me  out  on  deck.  I  was  feeling 
sick  and  squeamish,  and  sat  down  on  a  bench.  In  a  hazy 
way  I  saw  and  heard  men  rushing  and  shouting  as  they 
strove  to  lower  the  boats.  It  was  just  as  I  had  read  descrip- 
tions of  such  scenes  in  books.  The  tackles  jammed. 


8  THE  SEA-WOLF 

Nothing  worked.  One  boat  lowered  away  with  the  plugs 
out,  filled  with  women  and  children  and  then  with  water, 
and  capsized.  Another  boat  had  been  lowered  by  one  end, 
and  still  hung  in  the  tackle  by  the  other  end,  where  it  had 
been  abandoned.  Nothing  was  to  be  seen  of  the  strange 
steamboat  which  had  caused  the  disaster,  though  I  heard 
men  saying  that  she  would  undoubtedly  send  boats  to  our 
assistance. 

I  descended  to  the  lower  deck.  The  Martinez  was 
sinking  fast,  for  the  water  was  very  near.  Numbers  of 
the  passengers  were  leaping  overboard.  Others,  in  the 
water,  were  clamoring  to  be  taken  aboard  again.  No  one 
heeded  them.  A  cry  arose  that  we  were  sinking.  I  was 
seized  by  the  consequent  panic,  and  went  over  the  side 
in  a  surge  of  bodies.  How  I  went  over  I  do  not  know, 
though  I  did  know,  and  instantly,  why  those  in  the  water 
were  so  desirous  of  getting  back  on  the  steamer.  The 
water  was  cold  —  so  cold  that  it  was  painful.  The  pang, 
as  I  plunged  into  it,  was  as  quick  and  sharp  as  that  of 
fire.  It  bit  to  the  marrow.  It  was  like  the  grip  of 
death.  I  gasped  with  the  anguish  and  shock  of  it,  filling 
my  lungs  before  the  life-preserver  popped  me  to  the  sur- 
face. The  taste  of  the  salt  was  strong  in  my  mouth,  and 
I  was  strangling  with  the  acrid  stuff  in  my  throat  and 
lungs. 

But  it  was  the  cold  that  was  most  distressing.  I  felt 
that  I  could  survive  but  a  few  minutes.  People  were 
struggling  and  floundering  in  the  water  about  me.  I 
could  hear  them  crying  out  to  one  another.  And  I  heard, 
also,  the  sound  of  oars.  Evidently  the  strange  steamboat 
had  lowered  its  boats.  As  the  time  went  by  I  marvelled 
that  I  was  still  alive.  I  had  no  sensation  whatever  in 
my  lower  limbs,  while  a  chilling  numbness  was  wrapping 


THE  SEA-WOLF  9 

about  my  heart  and  creeping  into  it.  Small  waves,  with 
spiteful  foaming  crests,  continually  broke  over  me  and 
into  my  mouth,  sending  me  off  into  more  strangling 
paroxysms. 

The  noises  grew  indistinct,  though  I  heard  a  final  and 
despairing  chorus  of  screams  in  the  distance  and  knew  that 
the  Martinez  had  gone  down.  Later,  —  how  much  later  I 
have  no  knowledge,  —  I  came  to  myself  with  a  start  of  fear. 
I  was  alone.  I  could  hear  no  calls  or  cries  —  only  the 
sound  of  the  waves,  made  weirdly  hollow  and  reverberant 
by  the  fog.  A  panic  in  a  crowd,  which  partakes  of  a 
sort  of  community  of  interest,  is  not  so  terrible  as  a  panic 
when  one  is  by  oneself ;  and  such  a  panic  I  now  suffered. 
Whither  was  I  drifting  ?  The  red-faced  man  had  said  that 
the  tide  was  ebbing  through  the  Golden  Gate.  Was  I,  then, 
being  carried  out  to  sea  ?  And  the  life-preserver  in  which  I 
floated  ?  Was  it  not  liable  to  go  to  pieces  at  any  moment  ? 
I  had  heard  of  such  things  being  made  of  paper  and  hollow 
rushes  which  quickly  became  saturated  and  lost  all  buoy- 
ancy. And  I  could  not  swim  a  stroke.  And  I  was  alone, 
floating,  apparently,  in  the  midst  of  a  gray  primordial 
vastness.  I  confess  that  a  madness  seized  me,  that  I 
shrieked  aloud  as  the  women  had  shrieked,  and  beat  the 
water  with  my  numb  hands. 

How  long  this  lasted  I  have  no  conception,  for  a  blank- 
ness  intervened,  of  which  I  remember  no  more  than  one 
remembers  of  troubled  and  painful  sleep.  When  I  aroused, 
it  was  as  after  centuries  of  time ;  and  I  saw,  almost  above 
me  and  emerging  from  the  fog,  the  bow  of  a  vessel,  and 
three  triangular  sails,  each  shrewdly  lapping  the  other  and 
filled  with  wind.  Where  the  bow  cut  the  water  there  was 
a  great  foaming  and  gurgling,  and  I  seemed  directly  in  its 
path.  I  tried  to  cry  out,  but  was  too  exhausted.  The  bow 


10  THE  SEA-WOLF 

plunged  down,  just  missing  me  and  sending  a  swash  of 
water  clear  over  my  head.  Then  the  long,  black  side  of 
the  vessel  began  slipping  past,  so  near  that  I  could  have 
touched  it  with  my  hands.  I  tried  to  reach  it,  in  a  mad 
resolve  to  claw  into  the  wood  with  my  nails,  but  my  arms 
were  heavy  and  lifeless.  Again  I  strove  to  call  out,  but 
made  no  sound. 

The  stern  of  the  vessel  shot  by,  dropping,  as  it  did  so, 
into  a  hollow  between  the  waves ;  and  I  caught  a  glimpse 
of  a  man  standing  at  the  wheel,  and  of  another  man  who 
seemed  to  be  doing  little  else  than  smoke  a  cigar.  I  saw 
the  smoke  issuing  from  his  lips  as  he  slowly  turned  his 
head  and  glanced  out  over  the  water  in  my  direction.  It 
was  a  careless,  unpremeditated  glance,  one  of  those  hap- 
hazard things  men  do  when  they  have  no  immediate  call 
to  do  anything  in  particular,  but  act  because  they  are  alive 
and  must  do  something. 

But  life  and  death  were  in  that  glance.  I  could  see  the 
vessel  being  swallowed  up  in  the  fog ;  I  saw  the  back  of 
the  man  at  the  wheel,  and  the  head  of  the  other  man  turn- 
ing, slowly  turning,  as  his  gaze  struck  the  water  and  casu- 
ally lifted  along  it  toward  me.  His  face  wore  an  absent 
expression,  as  of  deep  thought,  and  I  became  afraid  that 
if  his  eyes  did  light  upon  me  he  would  nevertheless  not 
see  me.  But  his  eyes  did  light  upon  me,  and  looked 
squarely  into  mine ;  and  he  did  see  me,  for  he  sprang  to 
the  wheel,  thrusting  the  other  man  aside,  and  whirled  it 
round  and  round,  hand  over  hand,  at  the  same  time  shout- 
ing orders  of  some  sort.  The  vessel  seemed  to  go  off  at 
a  tangent  to  its  former  course  and  leapt  almost  instantly 
from  view  into  the  fog. 

I  felt  myself  slipping  into  unconsciousness,  and  tried 
with  all  the  power  ol  my  will  to  fight  above  the  suffocating 


THE  SEA-WOLF  II 

blankness  and  darkness  that  was  rising  around  me.  A 
little  later  I  heard  the  stroke  of  oars,  growing  nearer  and 
nearer,  and  the  calls  of  a  man.  When  he  was  very  near  I 
heard  him  crying,  in  vexed  fashion,  "  Why  in  hell  don't 
you  sing  out?"  This  meant  me,  I  thought,  and  then 
the  blankness  and  darkness  rose  over  me. 


CHAPTER   II 

I  SEEMED  swinging  in  a  mighty  rhythm  through  orbit 
vastness.  Sparkling  points  of  light  spluttered  and  shot 
past  me.  They  were  stars,  I  knew,  and  flaring  comets, 
that  peopled  my  flight  among  the  suns.  As  I  reached  the 
limit  of  my  swing  and  prepared  to  rush  back  on  the  counter 
swing,  a  great  gong  struck  and  thundered.  For  an  im- 
measurable period,  lapped  in  the  rippling  of  placid  cen- 
turies, I  enjoyed  and  pondered  my  tremendous  flight. 

But  a  change  came  over  the  face  of  the  dream,  for  a 
dream  I  told  myself  it  must  be.  My  rhythm  grew  shorter 
and  shorter.  I  was  jerked  from  swing  to  counter  swing 
with  irritating  haste.  I  could  scarcely  catch  my  breath, 
so  fiercely  was  I  impelled  through  the  heavens.  The  gong 
thundered  more  frequently  and  more  furiously.  I  grew  to 
await  it  with  a  nameless  dread.  Then  it  seemed  as  though 
I  were  being  dragged  over  rasping  sands,  white  and  hot  in 
the  sun.  This  gave  place  to  a  sense  of  intolerable  anguish. 
My  skin  was  scorching  in  the  torment  of  fire.  The  gong 
clanged  and  knelled.  The  sparkling  points  of  light  flashed 
past  me  in  an  interminable  stream,  as  though  the  whole 
sidereal  system  were  dropping  into  the  void.  I  gasped, 
caught  my  breath  painfully,  and  opened  my  eyes.  Two 
men  were  kneeling  beside  me,  working  over  me.  My 
mighty  rhythm  was  the  lift  and  forward  plunge  of  a  ship 
on  the  sea.  The  terrific  gong  was  a  frying-pan,  hanging 
on  the  wall,  that  rattled  and  clattered  with  each  leap  of 

12 


THE  SEA-WOLF  Ij 

the  ship.  The  rasping,  scorching  sands  were  a  man's  hard 
hands  chafing  my  naked  chest.  I  squirmed  under  the 
pain  of  it,  and  half  lifted  my  head.  My  chest  was  raw 
and  red,  and  I  could  see  tiny  blood  globules  starting 
through  the  torn  and  inflamed  cuticle. 

"That'll  do,  Yonson,"  one  of  the  men  said.  "Carn't 
yer  see  you've  bloomin'  well  rubbed  all  the  gent's  skin  orf  ? " 

The  man  addressed  as  Yonson,  a  man  of  the  heavy 
Scandinavian  type,  ceased  chafing  me,  and  arose  awk- 
wardly to  his  feet.  The  man  who  had  spoken  to  him  was 
clearly  a  Cockney,  with  the  clean  lines  and  weakly  pretty, 
almost  effeminate,  face  of  the  man  who  has  absorbed  the 
sound  of  Bow  Bells  with  his  mother's  milk.  A  draggled 
muslin  cap  on  his  head  and  a  dirty  gunny-sack  about  his 
slim  hips  proclaimed  him  cook  of  the  decidedly  dirty 
ship's  galley  in  which  I  found  myself. 

"  An*  'ow  yer  feelin'  now,  sir  ? "  he  asked,  with  the 
subservient  smirk  which  comes  only  of  generations  of 
tip-seeking  ancestors. 

For  reply,  I  twisted  weakly  into  a  sitting  posture,  and 
was  helped  by  Yonson  to  my  feet.  The  rattle  and  bang 
of  the  frying-pan  was  grating  horribly  on  my  nerves.  I 
could  not  collect  my  thoughts.  Clutching  the  woodwork 
of  the  galley  for  support,  —  and  I  confess  the  grease  with 
which  it  was  scummed  put  my  teeth  on  edge,  —  I  reached 
across  a  hot  cooking-range  to  the  offending  utensil,  un- 
hooked it,  and  wedged  it  securely  into  the  coal-box. 

The  cook  grinned  at  my  exhibition  of  nerves,  and 
thrust  into  my  hand  a  steaming  mug  with  an  "  'Ere,  this'll 
do  yer  good."  It  was  a  nauseous  mess,  —  ship's  coffee, — 
but  the  heat  of  it  was  revivifying.  Between  gulps  of  the 
molten  stuff  I  glanced  down  at  my  raw  and  bleeding 
chest  and  turned  to  the  Scandinavian. 


14  THE  SEA-WOLF 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Yonson,"  I  said;  "but  don't  you  think 
your  measures  were  rather  heroic  ? " 

It  was  because  he  understood  the  reproof  of  my  action, 
rather  than  of  my  words,  that  he  held  up  his  palm  for 
inspection.  It  was  remarkably  calloused.  I  passed  my 
hand  over  the  horny  projections,  and  my  teeth  went  on 
edge  once  more  from  the  horrible  rasping  sensation  pro- 
duced. 

"  My  name  is  Johnson,  not  Yonson,"  he  said,  in  very 
good,  though  slow,  English,  with  no  more  than  a  shade 
of  accent  to  it. 

There  was  mild  protest  in  his  pale  blue  eyes,  and 
withal  a  timid  frankness  and  manliness  that  quite  won 
me  to  him. 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Johnson,"  I  corrected,  and  reached 
out  my  hand  for  his. 

He  hesitated,  awkward  and  bashful,  shifted  his  weight 
from  one  leg  to  the  other,  then  blunderingly  gripped  my 
hand  in  a  hearty  shake. 

"  Have  you  any  dry  clothes  I  may  put  on  ? "  I  asked 
the  cook. 

"Yes,  sir,"  he  answered,  with  cheerful  alacrity.  "I'll 
run  down  an'  tyke  a  look  over  my  kit,  if  you've  no  objec- 
tions, sir,  to  wearin'  my  things." 

He  dived  out  of  the  galley  door,  or  glided  rather,  with 
a  swiftness  and  smoothness  of  gait  that  struck  me  as  being 
not  so  much  cat-like  as  oily.  In  fact,  this  oiliness,  or 
greasiness,  as  I  was  later  to  learn,  was  probably  the  most 
salient  expression  of  his  personality. 

"  And  where  am  I  ? "  I  asked  Johnson,  whom  I  took, 
and  rightly,  to  be  one  of  the  sailors.  "What  vessel  is 
this,  and  where  is  she  bound  ? " 

"  Off  the  Farallones,  heading  about  sou'west,"  he  an- 


THE  SEA-WOLF  15 

4 

swered,  slowly  and  methodically,  as  though  groping'  for 
his  best  English,  and  rigidly  observing  the  order  of  my 
queries.  "The  schooner  Ghost,  bound  seal-hunting  to 
Japan." 

"And  who  is  the  captain?  I  must  see  him  as  soon  as 
I  am  dressed." 

Johnson  looked  puzzled  and  embarrassed.  He  hesitated 
while  he  groped  in  his  vocabulary  and  framed  a  complete 
answer.  "  The  cap'n  is  Wolf  Larsen,  or  so  men  call  him. 
I  never  heard  his  other  name.  But  you  better  speak  soft 
with  him.  He  is  mad  this  morning.  The  mate  —  " 

But  he  did  not  finish.     The  cook  had  glided  in. 

"Better  sling  yer  'ook  out  of  'ere,  Yonson,"  he  said. 
"  The  old  man'll  be  wantin'  yer  on  deck,  an'  this  ayn't 
no  d'y  to  fall  foul  of  'im." 

'  Johnson  turned  obediently  to  the  door,  at  the  same 
time,  over  the  cook's  shoulder,  favoring  me  with  an  amaz- 
ingly solemn  and  portentous  wink,  as  though  to  emphasize 
his  interrupted  remark  and  the  need  for  me  to  be  soft- 
spoken  with  the  captain. 

Hanging  over  the  cook's  arm  was  a  loose  and  crumpled 
array  of  evil-looking  and  sour-smelling  garments. 

"  They  was  put  aw'y  wet,  sir,"  he  vouchsafed  explana- 
tion. "  But  you'll  'ave  to  make  them  do  till  I  dry  yours 
out  by  the  fire." 

Clinging  to  the  woodwork,  staggering  with  the  roll  of 
the  ship,  and  aided  by  the  cook,  I  managed  to  slip  into  a 
rough  woollen  undershirt.  On  the  instant  my  flesh  was 
creeping  and  crawling  from  the  harsh  contact.  He 
noticed  my  involuntary  twitching  and  grimacing,  and 
smirked : 

"  I  only  'ope  yer  don't  ever  'ave  to  get  used  to  such  as 
that  in  this  life,  'cos  you've  got  a  bloomin'  soft  skin,  that 


1 6  THE  SEA-WOLF 

you  'ave,  more  like  a  lydy's  than  any  I  know  of.  I  was 
bloomin'  well  sure  you  was  a  gentleman  as  soon  as  I  set 
eyes  on  yer." 

I  had  taken  a  dislike  to  him  at  first,  and  as  he  helped  to 
dress  me  this  dislike  increased.  There  was  something 
repulsive  about  his  touch.  I  shrank  from  his  hand ;  my 
flesh  revolted.  And  between  this  and  the  smells  arising 
from  various  pots  boiling  and  bubbling  on  the  galley  fire, 
I  was  in  haste  to  get  out  into  the  fresh  air.  Further,  there 
was  the  need  of  seeing  the  captain  about  what  arrange- 
ments could  be  made  for  getting  me  ashore. 

A  cheap  cotton  shirt,  with  frayed  collar  and  a  bosom 
discolored  with  what  I  took  to  be  ancient  blood-stains,  was 
put  on  me  amid  a  running  and  apologetic  fire  of  comment. 
A  pair  of  workman's  brogans  encased  my  feet,  and  for 
trousers  I  was  furnished  with  a  pair  of  pale  blue,  washed- 
out  overalls,  one  leg  of  which  was  fully  ten  inches  shorter 
than  the  other.  The  abbreviated  leg  looked  as  though  the 
devil  had  there  clutched  for  the  Cockney's  soul  and  missed 
the  shadow  for  the  substance. 

"  And  whom  have  I  to  thank  for  this  kindness  ? "  I 
asked,  when  I  stood  completely  arrayed,  a  tiny  boy's  cap 
on  my  head,  and  for  coat  a  dirty,  striped  cotton  jacket 
which  ended  at  the  small  of  my  back  and  the  sleeves  of 
which  reached  just  below  my  elbows. 

The  cook  drew  himself  up  in  a  smugly  humble  fashion, 
a  deprecating  smirk  on  his  face.  Out  of  my  experience 
with  stewards  on  the  Atlantic  liners  at  the  end  of  the 
voyage,  I  could  have  sworn  he  was  waiting  for  his  tip. 
From  my  fuller  knowledge  of  the  creature  I  now  know 
that  the  posture  was  unconscious.  An  hereditary  servility, 
no  doubt,  was  responsible. 

"  Mugridge,  sir,"  he  fawned,  his  effeminate  features  run- 


THE  SEA-WOLF  I/ 

ning  into  a  greasy  smile.  "  Thomas  Mugridge,  sir,  an'  at 
yer  service." 

"  All  right,  Thomas,"  I  said.  "  I  shall  not  forget  you  — 
when  my  clothes  are  dry." 

A  soft  light  suffused  his  face  and  his  eyes  glistened,  as 
though  somewhere  in  the  deeps  of  his  being  his  ancestors 
had  quickened  and  stirred  with  dim  memories  of  tips 
received  in  former  lives. 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  he  said,  very  gratefully  and  very 
humbly  indeed. 

Precisely  in  the  way  that  the  door  slid  back,  he  slid 
aside,  and  I  stepped  out  on  deck.  I  was  still  weak  from 
my  prolonged  immersion.  A  puff  of  wind  caught  me,  and 
I  staggered  across  the  moving  deck  to  a  corner  of  the 
cabin,  to  which  I  clung  for  support.  The  schooner,  heeled 
over  far  out  from  the  perpendicular,  was  bowing  and  plung- 
ing into  the  long  Pacific  roll.  If  she  were  heading  south- 
west as  Johnson  had  said,  the  wind,  then,  I  calculated,  was 
blowing  nearly  from  the  south.  The  fog  was  gone,  and  in 
its  place  the  sun  sparkled  crisply  on  the  surface  of  the 
water.  I  turned  to  the  east,  where  I  knew  California 
must  lie,  but  could  see  nothing  save  low-lying  fog-banks 
—  the  same  fog,  doubtless,  that  had  brought  about  the 
disaster  to  the  Martinez  and  placed  me  in  my  present  situa- 
tion. To  the  north,  and  not  far  away,  a  group  of  naked 
rocks  thrust  above  the  sea,  on  one  of  which  I  could  dis- 
tinguish a  lighthouse.  In  the  southwest,  and  almost  in 
our  course,  I  saw  the  pyramidal  loom  of  some  vessel's 
sails. 

Having  completed  my  survey  of  the  horizon,  I  turned  to 

my  more  immediate  surroundings.     My  first  thought  was 

that  a  man  who  had  come  through  a  collision  and  rubbed 

shoulders   with    death    merited    more    attention    than    I 

c 


1 8  THE  SEA-WOLF 

received.  Beyond  a  sailor  at  the  wheel  who  stared  curi- 
ously across  the  top  of  the  cabin,  I  attracted  no  notice 
whatever. 

Everybody  seemed  interested  in  what  was  going  on 
amidships.  There,  on  a  hatch,  a  large  man  was  lying  on 
his  back.  He  was  fully  clothed,  though  his  shirt  was 
ripped  open  in  front.  Nothing  was  to  be  seen  of  his 
chest,  however,  for  it  was  covered  with  a  mass  of  black 
hair,  in  appearance  like  the  furry  coat  of  a  dog.  His  face 
and  neck  were  hidden  beneath  a  black  beard,  intershot 
with  gray,  which  would  have  been  stiff  and  bushy  had  it 
not  been  limp  and  draggled  and  dripping  with  water.  His 
eyes  were  closed,  and  he  was  apparently  unconscious ;  but 
his  mouth  was  wide  open,  his  breast  heaving  as  though 
from  suffocation  as  he  labored  noisily  for  breath.  A 
sailor,  from  time  to  time  and  quite  methodically,  as  a 
matter  of  routine,  dropped  a  canvas  bucket  into  the  ocean 
at  the  end  of  a  rope,  hauled  it  in  hand  under  hand,  and 
sluiced  its  contents  over  the  prostrate  man. 

Pacing  back  and  forth  the  length  of  the  hatchway,  and 
savagely  chewing  the  end  of  a  cigar,  was  the  man  whose 
casual  glance  had  rescued  me  from  the  sea.  His  height 
was  probably  five  feet  ten  inches,  or  ten  and  a  half ;  but 
my  first  impression,  or  feel  of  the  man,  was  not  of  this,  but 
of  his  strength.  And  yet,  while  he  was  of  massive  build, 
with  broad  shoulders  and  deep  chest,  I  could  not  charac- 
terize his  strength  as  massive.  It  was  what  might  be 
termed  a  sinewy,  knotty  strength,  of  the  kind  we  ascribe 
to  lean  and  wiry  men,  but  which,  in  him,  because  of  his 
heavy  build,  partook  more  of  the  enlarged  gorilla  order. 
Not  that  in  appearance  he  seemed  in  the  least  gorilla-like. 
What  I  am  striving  to  express  is  this  strength  itself,  more 
as  a  thing  apart  from  his  physical  semblance.  It  was  a 


THE  SEA-WOLF  1 9 

strength  we  are  wont  to  associate  with  things  primitive, 
with  wild  animals,  and  the  creatures  we  imagine  our  tree- 
dwelling  prototypes  to  have  been  —  a  strength  savage, 
ferocious,  alive  in  itself,  the  essence  of  life  in  that  it  is  the 
potency  of  motion,  the  elemental  stuff  itself  out  of  which 
the  many  forms  of  life  have  been  molded;  in  short,  that 
which  writhes  in  the  body  of  a  snake  when  the  head  is  cut 
off,  and  the  snake,  as  a  snake,  is  dead,  or  which  lingers  in 
a  shapeless  lump  of  turtle-meat  and  recoils  and  quivers 
from  the  prod  of  a  finger. 

Such  was  the  impression  of  strength  I  gathered  from 
this  man  who  paced  up  and  down.  He  was  firmly  planted 
on  his  legs;  his  feet  struck  the  deck  squarely  and  with 
surety ;  every  movement  of  a  muscle,  from  the  heave  of 
the  shoulders  to  the  tightening  of  the  lips  about  the  cigar, 
was  decisive,  and  seemed  to  come  out  of  a  strength  that 
was  excessive  and  overwhelming.  In  fact,  though  this 
strength  pervaded  every  action  of  his,  it  seemed  but  the 
advertisement  of  a  greater  strength  that  lurked  within,  that 
lay  dormant  and  no  more  than  stirred  from  time  to  time, 
but  which  might  arouse,  at  any  moment,  terrible  and  com- 
pelling, like  the  rage  of  a  lion  or  the  wrath  of  a  storm. 

The  cook  stuck  his  head  out  of  the  galley  door  and 
grinned  encouragingly  at  me,  at  the  same  time  jerking  his 
thumb  in  the  direction  of  the  man  who  paced  up  and 
down  by  the  hatchway.  Thus  I  was  given  to  understand 
that  he  was  the  captain,  the  "Old  Man,"  in  the  cook's  ver- 
nacular, the  individual  whom  I  must  interview  and  put  to 
the  trouble  of  somehow  getting  me  ashore.  I  had  half 
started  forward,  to  get  over  with  what  I  was  certain  would 
be  a  stormy  five  minutes,  when  a  more  violent  suffo- 
cating paroxysm  seized  the  unfortunate  person  who  was 
lying  on  his  back.  He  wrenched  and  writhed  about  con- 


20  THE  SEA-WOLF 

vulsively.  The  chin,  with  the  damp  black  beard,  pointed 
higher  in  the  air  as  the  back  muscles  stiffened  and  the 
chest  swelled  in  an  unconscious  and  instinctive  effort  to 
get  more  air.  Under  the  whiskers,  and  all  unseen,  I  knew 
that  the  skin  was  taking  on  a  purplish  hue. 

The  captain,  or  Wolf  Larsen,  as  men  called  him,  ceased 
pacing  and  gazed  down  at  the  dying  man.  So  fierce  had 
this  final  struggle  become  that  the  sailor  paused  in  the  act 
of  flinging  more  water  over  him  and  stared  curiously,  the 
canvas  bucket  partly  tilted  and  dripping  its  contents  to 
the  deck.  The  dying  man  beat  a  tattoo  on  the  hatch  with  his 
heels,  straightened  out  his  legs,  and  stiffened  in  one  great 
tense  effort,  and  rolled  his  head  from  side  to  side.  Then 
the  muscles  relaxed,  the  head  stopped  rolling,  and  a  sigh, 
as  of  profound  relief,  floated  upward  from  his  lips.  The 
jaw  dropped,  the  upper  lip  lifted,  and  two  rows  of  tobacco- 
discolored  teeth  appeared.  It  seemed  as  though  his  features 
had  frozen  into  a  diabolical  grin  at  the  world  he  had  left 
and  outwitted. 

Then  a  most  surprising  thing  occurred.  The  captain 
broke  loose  upon  the  dead  man  like  a  thunderclap.  Oaths 
rolled  from  his  lips  in  a  continuous  stream.  And  they 
were  not  namby-pamby  oaths,  or  mere  expressions  of  inde- 
cency. Each  word  was  a  blasphemy,  and  there  were  many 
words.  They  crisped  and  crackled  like  electric  sparks.  I 
had  never  heard  anything  like  it  in  my  life,  nor  could  I 
have  conceived  it  possible.  With  a  turn  for  literary  ex- 
pression myself,  and  a  penchant  for  forcible  figures  and 
phrases,  I  appreciated,  as  no  other  listener,  I  dare  say,  the 
peculiar  vividness  and  strength  and  absolute  blasphemy  of 
his  metaphors.  The  cause  of  it  all,  as  near  as  I  could 
make  out,  was  that  the  man,  who  was  mate,  had  gone  on  a 
debauch  before  leaving  San  Francisco,  and  then  had  the 


THE  SEA-WOLF  21 

poor  taste  to  die  at  the  beginning  of  the  voyage  and  leave 
Wolf  Larsen  short-handed. 

It  should  be  unnecessary  to  state,  at  least  to  my  friends, 
that  I  was  shocked.  Oaths  and  vile  language  of  any 
sort  had  always  been  repellent  to  me.  I  felt  a  wilting 
sensation,  a  sinking  at  the  heart,  and,  I  might  just  as 
well  say,  a  giddiness.  To  me,  death  had  always  been  in- 
vested with  solemnity  and  dignity.  It  had  been  peaceful 
in  its  occurrence,  sacred  in  its  ceremonial.  But  death  in 
its  more  sordid  and  terrible  aspects  was  a  thing  with  which 
I  had  been  unacquainted  till  now.  As  I  say,  while  I  appre- 
ciated the  power  of  the  terrific  denunciation  that  swept  out 
of  Wolf  Larsen's  mouth,  I  was  inexpressibly  shocked. 
The  scorching  torrent  was  enough  to  wither  the  face  of 
the  corpse.  I  should  not  have  been  surprised  if  the  wet 
black  beard  had  frizzled  and  curled  and  flared  up  in  smoke 
and  flame.  But  the  dead  man  was  unconcerned.  He 
continued  to  grin  with  a  sardonic  humor,  with  a  cynical 
mockery  and  defiance.  He  was  master  of  the  situation. 


CHAPTER  III 

WOLF  LARSEN  ceased  swearing  as  suddenly  as  he  had 
begun.  He  relighted  his  cigar  and  glanced  around.  His 
eyes  chanced  upon  the  cook. 

"  Well,  Cooky  ? "  he  began,  with  a  suaveness  that  was 
cold  and  of  the  temper  of  steel. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  the  cook  eagerly  interpolated,  with  appeasing 
and  apologetic  servility. 

"  Don't  you  think  you've  stretched  that  neck  of  yours 
just  about  enough  ?  It's  unhealthy,  you  know.  The  mate's 
gone,  so  I  can't  afford  to  lose  you  too.  You  must  be  very, 
very  careful  of  your  health,  Cooky.  Understand  ? " 

His  last  word,  in  striking  contrast  with  the  smoothness 
of  his  previous  utterance,  snapped  like  the  lash  of  a  whip. 
The  cook  quailed  under  it. 

"Yes,  sir,"  was  the  meek  reply,  as  the  offending  head 
disappeared  into  the  galley. 

At  this  sweeping  rebuke,  which  the  cook  had  only 
pointed,  the  rest  of  the  crew  became  uninterested  and  fel1 
to  work  at  one  task  or  another.  A  number  of  men,  how^ 
ever,  who  were  lounging  about  a  companionway  between  the 
galley  and  the  hatch,  and  who  did  not  seem  to  be  sailors, 
continued  talking  in  low  tones  with  one  another.  These, 
I  afterward  learned,  were  the  hunters,  the  men  who  shot 
the  seals,  and  a  very  superior  breed  to  common  sailor- 
folk. 

"  Johansen  !  "  Wolf  Larsen  called  out.  A  sailor  stepped 
forward  obediently.  "Get  your  palm  and  needle  and  sew 


THE  SEA-WOLF  23 

the  beggar  up.  You'll  find  some  old  canvas  in  the  sail- 
locker.  Make  it  do." 

"  What' 11  I  put  on  his  feet,  sir  ? "  the  man  asked,  after 
the  customary  "Ay,  ay,  sir." 

"  We'll  see  to  that,"  Wolf  Larsen  answered,  and  elevated 
his  voice  in  a  call  of  "  Cooky  !  " 

Thomas  Mugridge  popped  out  of  his  galley  like  a  jack- 
in-the-box. 

"  Go  below  and  fill  a  sack  with  coal." 

"  Any  of  you  fellows  got  a  Bible  or  prayer-book  ? "  was 
the  captain's  next  demand,  this  time  of  the  hunters  loung- 
ing about  the  companionway. 

They  shook  their  heads,  and  some  one  made  a  jocular 
remark  which  I  did  not  catch,  but  which  raised  a  general 
laugh. 

Wolf  Larsen  made  the  same  demand  of  the  sailors. 
Bibles  and  prayer-books  seemed  scarce  articles,  but  one  of 
the  men  volunteered  to  pursue  the  quest  amongst  the 
watch  below,  returning  in  a  minute  with  the  information 
that  there  was  none. 

The  captain  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  Then  we'll  drop 
him  over  without  any  palavering,  unless  our  clerical-look- 
ing castaway  has  the  burial  service  at  sea  by  heart." 

By  this  time  he  had  swung  fully  around  and  was  facing 
me. 

"You're  a  preacher,  aren't  you?"  he  asked. 

The  hunters,  —  there  were  six  of  them,  —  to  a  man, 
turned  and  regarded  me.  I  was  painfully  aware  of  my 
likeness  to  a  scarecrow.  A  laugh  went  up  at  my  appear- 
ance, —  a  laugh  that  was  not  lessened  or  softened  by  the 
dead  man  stretched  and  grinning  on  the  deck  before  us ; 
a  laugh  that  was  as  rough  and  harsh  and  frank  as  the 
sea  itself;  that  arose  out  of  coarse  feelings  and  blunted 


24  THE  SEA-WOLF 

sensibilities,  from  natures  that  knew  neither  courtesy  nor 
gentleness. 

Wolf  Larsen  did  not  laugh,  though  his  gray  eyes  lighted 
with  a  slight  glint  of  amusement;  and  in  that  moment, 
having  stepped  forward  quite  close  to  him,  I  received  my 
first  impression  of  the  man  himself,  of  the  man  as  apart 
from  his  body  and  from  the  torrent  of  blasphemy  I  had 
heard  him  spew  forth.  The  face,  with  large  features  and 
strong  lines,  of  the  square  order,  yet  well  filled  out,  was 
apparently  massive  at  first  sight;  but  again,  as  with  the 
body,  the  massiveness  seemed  to  vanish  and  a  conviction 
to  grow  of  a  tremendous  and  excessive  mental  or  spiritual 
strength  that  lay  behind,  sleeping  in  the  deeps  of  his 
being.  The  jaw,  the  chin,  the  brow  rising  to  a  goodly 
height  and  swelling  heavily  above  the  eyes,  —  these,  while 
strong  in  themselves,  unusually  strong,  seemed  to  speak 
an  immense  vigor  or  virility  of  spirit  that  lay  behind  and 
beyond  and  out  of  sight.  There  was  no  sounding  such  a 
spirit,  no  measuring,  no  determining  of  metes  and  bounds, 
nor  neatly  classifying  in  some  pigeonhole  with  others  of 
similar  type. 

The  eyes  —  and  it  was  my  destiny  to  know  them  well 
• — were  large  and  handsome,  wide  apart  as  the  true  artist's 
are  wide,  sheltering  under  a  heavy  brow  and  arched  over 
by  thick  black  eyebrows.  The  eyes  themselves  were  of 
that  baffling  protean  gray  which  is  never  twice  the  same ; 
which  runs  through  many  shades  and  colorings  like  inter- 
shot  silk  in  sunshine ;  which  is  gray,  dark  and  light,  and 
greenish  gray,  and  sometimes  of  the  clear  azure  of  the 
deep  sea.  They  were  eyes  that  masked  the  soul  with  a 
thousand  guises,  and  that  sometimes  opened,  at  rare 
moments,  and  allowed  it  to  rush  up  as  though  it  were 
about  to  fare  forth  nakedly  into  the  world  on  some  wonder- 


THE  SEA-WOLF  25 

f ul  adventure,  —  eyes  that  could  brood  with  the  hopeless 
sombreness  of  leaden  skies;  that  could  snap  and  crackle 
points  of  fire  like  those  which  sparkle  from  a  whirling 
sword ;  that  could  grow  chill  as  an  arctic  landscape,  and 
yet  again,  that  could  warm  and  soften  and  be  all  a-dance 
with  love-lights,  intense  and  masculine,  luring  and  com- 
pelling, which  at  the  same  time  fascinate  and  dominate 
women  till  they  surrender  in  a  gladness  of  joy  and  of 
relief  and  sacrifice. 

But  to  return.  I  told  him  that,  unhappily  for  the  burial 
service,  I  was  not  a  preacher,  when  he  sharply  demanded : 

"  What  do  you  do  for  a  living? " 

I  confess  I  had  never  had  such  a  question  asked  me 
before,  nor  had  I  ever  canvassed  it.  I  was  quite  taken 
aback,  and  before  I  could  find  myself  had  sillily  stam- 
mered, "I  —  I  am  a  gentleman." 

His  lip  curled  in  a  swift  sneer. 

"I  have  worked,  I  do  work,"  I  cried  impetuously,  as 
though  he  were  my  judge  and  I  required  vindication,  and 
at  the  same  time  very  much  aware  of  my  arrant  idiocy  in 
discussing  the  subject  at  all. 

"  For  your  living  ? " 

There  was  something  so  imperative  and  masterful  about 
him  that  I  was  quite  beside  myself  —  "rattled,"  as  Furuseth 
would  have  termed  it,  like  a  quaking  child  before  a  stern 
schoolmaster. 

"  Who  feeds  you  ? "  was  his  next  question. 

"  I  have  an  income,"  I  answered  stoutly,  and  could  have 
bitten  my  tongue  the  next  instant.  "All  of  which,  you 
will  pardon  my  observing,  has  nothing  whatsoever  to  do 
with  what  I  wish  to  see  you  about/' 

But  he  disregarded  my  protest. 

"Who  earned   it?     Eh?     I  thought  so.     Your  father. 


26  THE  SEA-WOLF 

You  stand  on  dead  men's  legs.  You've  never  had  any  of 
your  own.  You  couldn't  walk  alone  between  two  sunrises 
and  hustle  the  meat  for  your  belly  for  three  meals.  Let 
me  see  your  hand." 

His  tremendous,  dormant  strength  must  have  stirred, 
swiftly  and  accurately,  or  I  must  have  slept  a  moment,  for 
before  I  knew  it  he  had  stepped  two  paces  forward, 
gripped  my  right  hand  in  his,  and  held  it  up  for  inspec- 
tion. I  tried  to  withdraw  it,  but  his  fingers  tightened, 
without  visible  effort,  till  I  thought  mine  would  be  crushed. 
It  is  hard  to  maintain  one's  dignity  under  such  circum- 
stances. I  could  not  squirm  or  struggle  like  a  schoolboy. 
Nor  could  I  attack  such  a  creature  who  had  but  to  twist 
my  arm  to  break  it.  Nothing  remained  but  to  stand  still 
and  accept  the  indignity.  I  had  time  to  notice  that  the 
pockets  of  the  dead  man  had  been  emptied  on  the  deck, 
and  that  his  body  and  his  grin  had  been  wrapped  from 
view  in  canvas,  the  folds  of  which  the  sailor,  Johansen,  was 
sewing  together  with  coarse  white  twine,  shoving  the 
needle  through  with  a  leather  contrivance  fitted  on  the 
palm  of  his  hand. 

Wolf  Larsen  dropped  my  hand  with  a  flirt  of  disdain. 

"  Dead  men's  hands  have  kept  it  soft.  Good  for  little 
else  than  dish-washing  and  scullion  work." 

"  I  wish  to  be  put  ashore,"  I  said  firmly,  for  I  now  had 
myself  in  control.  "  I  shall  pay  you  whatever  you  judge 
your  delay  and  trouble  to  be  worth." 

He  looked  at  me  curiously.     Mockery  shone  in  his  eyes. 

"  I  have  a  counter  proposition  to  make,  and  for  the  good 
of  your  soul.  My  mate's  gone,  and  there'll  be  a  lot  of  pro- 
motion. A  sailor  comes  aft  to  take  mate's  place,  cabin-boy 
goes  for'ard  to  take  sailor's  place,  and  you  take  the  cabin- 
boy's  place,  sign  the  articles  for  the  cruise,  twenty  dollars 


THE  SEA-WOLF  27 

per  month  and  found.  Now  what  do  you  say?  And 
mind  you,  it's  for  your  own  soul's  sake.  It  will  be  the 
making  of  you.  You  might  learn  in  time  to  stand  on  your 
own  legs  and  perhaps  to  toddle  along  a  bit." 

But  I  took  no  notice.  The  sails  of  the  vessel  I  had  seen 
off  to  the  southwest  had  grown  larger  and  plainer.  They 
were  of  the  same  schooner-rig  as  the  Ghost,  though  the  hull 
itself,  I  could  see,  was  smaller.  She  was  a  pretty  sight, 
leaping  and  flying  toward  us,  and  evidently  bound  to  pass 
at  close  range.  The  wind  had  been  momentarily  increas- 
ing, and  the  sun,  after  a  few  angry  gleams,  had  dis- 
appeared. The  sea  had  turned  a  dull  leaden  gray  and 
grown  rougher,  and  was  now  tossing  foaming  whitecaps  to 
the  sky.  We  were  travelling  faster  and  heeled  farther 
over.  Once,  in  a  gust,  the  rail  dipped  under  the  sea,  and 
the  decks  on  that  side  were  for  the  moment  awash  with 
water  that  made  a  couple  of  the  hunters  hastily  lift  their  feet. 

"That  vessel  will  soon  be  passing  us,"  I  said,  after  a 
moment's  pause.  "  As  she  is  going  in  the  opposite  direc- 
tion, she  is  very  probably  bound  for  San  Francisco." 

"Very  probably,"  was  Wolf  Larsen's  answer,  as  he 
turned  partly  away  from  me  and  cried  out,  "  Cooky  I  Oh, 
Cooky ! " 

The  Cockney  popped  out  of  the  galley. 

"  Where's  that  boy  ?     Tell  him  I  want  him." 

"  Yes,  sir ; "  and  Thomas  Mugridge  fled  swiftly  aft  and 
disappeared  down  another  companionway  near  the  wheel. 
A  moment  later  he  emerged,  a  heavy-set  young  fellow  of 
eighteen  or  nineteen,  with  a  glowering,  villanous  counte- 
nance, trailing  at  his  heels. 

"  'Ere  'e  is,  sir,"  the  cook  said. 

But  Wolf  Larsen  ignored  that  worthy,  turning  at  once 
to  the  cabin-boy. 


28  THE  SEA-WOLF 

"  What's  your  name,  boy  ? " 

"  George  Leach,  sir,"  came  the  sullen  answer,  and  the 
boy's  bearing  showed  clearly  that  he  divined  the  reason 
for  which  he  had  been  summoned. 

"Not  an  Irish  name,"  the  captain  snapped  sharply. 
"  O'Toole  or  McCarthy  would  suit  your  mug  a  damn  sight 
better.  Unless,  very  likely,  there's  an  Irishman  in  your 
mother's  woodpile." 

I  saw  the  young  fellow's  hands  clench  at  the  insult,  and 
the  blood  crawl  scarlet  up  his  neck. 

"  But  let  that  go,"  Wolf  Larsen  continued.  "  You  may 
have  very  good  reasons  for  forgetting  your  name,  and  I'll 
like  you  none  the  worse  for  it  as  long  as  you  toe  the  mark. 
Telegraph  Hill,  of  course,  is  your  port  of  entry.  It  sticks 
out  all  over  your  mug.  Tough  as  they  make  them  and 
twice  as  nasty.  I  know  the  kind.  Well,  you  can  make 
up  your  mind  to  have  it  taken  out  of  you  on  this  craft. 
Understand  ?  Who  shipped  you,  anyway  ? " 

"  McCready  and  Swanson." 

"  Sir !  "  Wolf  Larsen  thundered. 

"  McCready  and  Swanson,  sir,"  the  boy  corrected,  his 
eyes  burning  with  a  bitter  light. 

"  Who  got  the  advance  money  ? " 

"They  did,  sir." 

"  I  thought  as  much.  And  damned  glad  you  were  to 
let  them  have  it.  Couldn't  make  yourself  scarce  too 
quick,  with  several  gentlemen  you  may  have  heard  of 
looking  for  you." 

The  boy  metamorphosed  into  a  savage  on  the  instant. 
His  body  bunched  together  as  though  for  a  spring,  and 
his  face  became  as  an  infuriated  beast's  as  he  snarled, 
"It's  a  —  " 

"  A  what  ?  "  Wolf  Larsen  asked,  a  peculiar  softness  in 


THE  SEA-WOLF  29 

his  voice,  as  though  he  were  overwhelmingly  curious  to 
hear  the  unspoken  word. 

The  boy  hesitated,  then  mastered  his  temper.  "  Nothin', 
sir.  I  take  it  back." 

"  And  you  have  shown  me  I  was  right."  This  with  a 
gratified  smile.  "  How  old  are  you  ?  " 

"Just  turned  sixteen,  sir." 

"  A  lie.  You'll  never  see  eighteen  again.  Big  for  your 
age  at  that,  with  muscles  like  a  horse.  Pack  up  your  kit 
and  go  for'ard  into  the  fo'c'sle.  You're  a  boat-puller  now. 
You're  promoted ;  see  ? " 

Without  waiting  for  the  boy's  acceptance,  the  captain 
turned  to  the  sailor  who  had  just  finished  the  grewsome 
task  of  sewing  up  the  corpse.  "  Johansen,  do  you  know 
anything  about  navigation  ?  " 

"  No,  sir." 

"Well,  never  mind;  you're  mate  just  the  same.  Get 
your  traps  aft  into  the  mate's  berth." 

"Ay,  ay,  sir,"  was  the  cheery  response,  as  Johansen 
started  forward. 

In  the  meantime  the  erstwhile  cabin-boy  had  not  moved. 

"What  are  you  waiting  for?"  Wolf  Larsen  demanded. 

"  I  didn't  sign  for  boat-puller,  sir,"  was  the  reply.  "  I 
signed  for  cabin-boy.  An'  I  don't  want  no  boat-pullin'  in 
mine." 

"  Pack  up  and  go  for'ard." 

This  time  Wolf  Larsen' s  command  was  thrillingly  im- 
perative. The  boy  glowered  sullenly,  but  refused  to  move. 

Then  came  another  stirring  of  Wolf  Larsen's  tre- 
mendous strength.  It  was  utterly  unexpected,  and  it 
was  over  and  done  with  between  the  ticks  of  two  seconds. 
He  had  sprung  fully  six  feet  across  the  deck  and  driven 
his  fist  into  the  other's  stomach.  At  the  same  moment, 


3<D  THE   SEA-WOLF 

as  though  I  had  been  struck  myself,  I  felt  a  sickening 
shock  in  the  pit  of  my  stomach.  I  instance  this  to  show 
the  sensitiveness  of  my  nervous  organization  at  the  time, 
and  how  unused  I  was  to  spectacles  of  brutality.  The 
cabin-boy  —  and  he  weighed  one  hundred  and  sixty-five 
at  the  very  least  —  crumpled  up.  His  body  wrapped 
limply  about  the  fist  like  a  wet  rag  about  a  stick.  He 
lifted  into  the  air,  described  a  short  curve,  and  struck  the 
deck  alongside  the  corpse  on  his  head  and  shoulders, 
where  he  lay  and  writhed  about  in  agony. 

"  Well  ? "  Larsen  asked  of  me.  "  Have  you  made  up 
your  mind  ? " 

I  had  glanced  occasionally  at  the  approaching  schooner, 
and  it  was  now  almost  abreast  of  us  and  not  more  than  a 
couple  of  hundred  yards  away.  It  was  a  very  trim  and 
neat  little  craft.  I  could  see  a  large,  black  number  on  one 
of  its  sails,  and  I  had  seen  pictures  of  pilot-boats. 

"  What  vessel  is  that  ?  "  I  asked. 

"The  pilot-boat  Lady  Mine,"  Wolf  Larsen  answered 
grimly.  "  Got  rid  of  her  pilots  and  running  into  San  Fran- 
cisco. She'll  be  there  in  five  or  six  hours  with  this  wind." 

"  Will  you  please  signal  it,  then,  so  that  I  may  be  put 
ashore." 

"  Sorry,  but  I've  lost  the  signal  book  overboard,"  he  re- 
marked, and  the  group  of  hunters  grinned. 

I  debated  a  moment,  looking  him  squarely  in  the  eyes. 
I  had  seen  the  frightful  treatment  of  the  cabin-boy,  and 
knew  that  I  should  very  probably  receive  the  same,  if  not 
worse.  As  I  say,  I  debated  with  myself,  and  then  I  did 
what  I  consider  the  bravest  act  of  my  life.  I  ran  to  the 
side,  waving  my  arms  and  shouting : 

"  Lady  Mine  ahoy !  Take  me  ashore !  A  thousand 
dollars  if  you  take  me  ashore ! " 


'AHOY!    TAKE  ME  ASHORE!     A  THOUSAND  DOLLARS  IF  YOU  TAKE  ME 
ASHORE  ! ' " 


THE  SEA-WOLF  31 

I  waited,  watching  two  men  who  stood  by  the  wheel,  one 
of  them  steering.  The  other  was  lifting  a  megaphone  to 
his  lips.  I  did  not  turn  my  head,  though  I  expected  every 
moment  a  killing  blow  from  the  human  brute  behind  me. 
At  last,  after  what  seemed  centuries,  unable  longer  to  stand 
the  strain,  I  looked  around.  He  had  not  moved.  He  was 
standing  in  the  same  position,  swaying  easily  to  the  roll  of 
the  ship  and  lighting  a  fresh  cigar. 

"What  is  the  matter ?     Anything  wrong ? " 

This  was  the  cry  from  the  Lady  Mine. 

"  Yes !  "  I  shouted,  at  the  top  of  my  lungs.  "  Life  or 
death  !  One  thousand  dollars  if  you  take  me  ashore ! " 

"Too  much  'Frisco  tanglefoot  for  the  health  of  my 
crew!"  Wolf  Larsen  shouted  after.  " This  one,"  —  indi- 
cating me  with  his  thumb,  — "  fancies  sea-serpents  and 
monkeys  just  now !  " 

The  man  on  the  Lady  Mine  laughed  back  through  the 
megaphone.  The  pilot-boat  plunged  past. 

"  Give  him  hell  for  me !  "  came  a  final  cry,  and  the  two 
men  waved  their  arms  in  farewell. 

I  leaned  despairingly  over  the  rail,  watching  the  trim 
little  schooner  swiftly  increasing  the  bleak  sweep  of  ocean 
between  us.  And  she  would  probably  be  in  San  Francisco 
in  five  or  six  hours !  My  head  seemed  bursting.  There 
was  an  ache  in  my  throat  as  though  my  heart  were  up  in 
it.  A  curling  wave  struck  the  side  and  splashed  salt  spray 
on  my  lips.  The  wind  puffed  strongly,  and  the  Ghost 
heeled  far  over,  burying  her  lee  rail.  I  could  hear  the 
water  rushing  down  upon  the  deck. 

When  I  turned  around,  a  moment  later,  I  saw  the  cabin- 
boy  staggering  to  his  feet.  His  face  was  ghastly  white, 
twitching  with  suppressed  pain.  He  looked  very  sick. 

"  Well,  Leach,  are  you  going  f  or'ard  ? "  Wolf  Larsen  asked 


32  THE  SEA-WOLF 

"Yes,  sir,"  came  the  answer  of  a  spirit  cowed. 

"  And  you  ? "  I  was  asked. 

"  I'll  give  you  a  thousand  —  "I  began,  but  was  inter- 
rupted. 

"  Stow  that !  Are  you  going  to  take  up  your  duties  as 
cabin-boy  ?  Or  do  I  have  to  take  you  in  hand  ? " 

What  was  I  to  do  ?  To  be  brutally  beaten,  to  be  killed 
perhaps,  would  not  help  my  case.  I  looked  steadily  into 
the  cruel  gray  eyes.  They  might  have  been  granite  for 
all  the  light  and  warmth  of  a  human  soul  they  contained. 
One  may  see  the  soul  stir  in  some  men's  eyes,  but  his  were 
bleak,  and  cold,  and  gray  as  the  sea  itself. 

"Well?" 

"  Yes,"  I  said. 

"Say 'yes,  sir/" 

"Yes,  sir,"  I  corrected. 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  " 

"Van  Weyden,  sir." 

"  First  name  ? " 

"  Humphrey,  sir;  Humphrey  Van  Weyden." 

"Age?" 

"Thirty-five,  sir." 

"  That'll  do.     Go  to  the  cook  and  learn  your  duties." 

And  thus  it  was  that  I  passed  into  a  state  of  involuntary 
servitude  to  Wolf  Larsen.  He  was  stronger  than  I,  that 
was  all.  But  it  was  very  unreal  at  the  time.  It  is  no  less 
unreal  now  that  I  look  back  upon  it.  It  will  always  be  to 
me  a  monstrous,  inconceivable  thing,  a  horrible  nightmare. 

"  Hold  on,  don't  go  yet." 

I  stopped  obediently  in  my  walk  toward  the  galley. 

"  Johansen,  call  all  hands.  Now  that  we've  everything 
cleaned  up,  we'll  have  the  funeral  and  get  the  decks  cleared 
of  useless  lumber." 


THE  SEA-WOLF  33 

While  Johansen  was  summoning  the  watch  below,  a 
couple  of  sailors,  under  the  captain's  direction,  laid  the 
canvas-swathed  corpse  upon  a  hatch-cover.  On  either 
side  the  deck,  against  the  rail  and  bottoms  up,  were  lashed 
a  number  of  small  boats.  Several  men  picked  up  the 
hatch-cover  with  its  ghastly  freight,  carried  it  to  the  lee 
side,  and  rested  it  on  the  boats,  the  feet  pointing  overboard. 
To  the  feet  was  attached  the  sack  of  coal  which  the  cook 
had  fetched. 

I  had  always  conceived  a  burial  at  sea  to  be  a  very 
solemn  and  awe-inspiring  event,  but  I  was  quickly  disillu- 
sioned, by  this  burial  at  any  rate.  One  of  the  hunters,  a 
little  dark-eyed  man  whom  his  mates  called  "  Smoke,"  was 
telling  stories,  liberally  intersprinkled  with  oaths  and  ob- 
scenities; and  every  minute  or  so  the  group  of  hunters 
gave  mouth  to  a  laughter  that  sounded  to  me  like  a  wolf- 
chorus  or  the  barking  of  hell-hounds.  The  sailors  trooped 
noisily  aft,  some  of  the  watch  below  rubbing  the  sleep  from 
their  eyes,  and  talked  in  low  tones  together.  There  was 
an  ominous  and  worried  expression  on  their  faces.  It  was 
evident  that  they  did  not  like  the  outlook  of  a  voyage 
under  such  a  captain  and  begun  so  inauspiciously.  From 
time  to  time  they  stole  glances  at  Wolf  Larsen,  and  I 
could  see  that  they  were  apprehensive  of  the  man. 

He  stepped  up  to  the  hatch-cover,  and  all  caps  came  off. 
I  ran  my  eyes  over  them  —  twenty  men  all  told,  twenty- 
two  including  the  man  at  the  wheel  and  myself.  I  was 
pardonably  curious  in  my  survey,  for  it  appeared  my  fate 
to  be  pent  up  with  them  on  this  miniature  floating  world 
for  I  knew  not  how  many  weeks  or  months.  The  sailors, 
in  the  main,  were  English  and  Scandinavian,  and  their 
faces  seemed  of  the  heavy,  stolid  order.  The  hunters,  on 
the  other  hand,  had  stronger  and  more  diversified  faces, 


34  THE  SEA-WOLF 

with  hard  lines  and  the  marks  of  the  free  play  of  passions. 
Strange  to  say,  and  I  noted  it  at  once,  Wolf  Larsen's  fea- 
tures showed  no  such  evil  stamp.  There  seemed  nothing 
vicious  in  them.  True,  there  were  lines,  but  they  were 
the  lines  of  decision  and  firmness.  It  seemed,  rather,  a 
frank  and  open  countenance,  which  frankness  or  openness 
was  enhanced  by  the  fact  that  he  was  smooth-shaven.  I 
could  hardly  believe,  —  until  the  next  incident  occurred,  — 
that  it  was  the  face  of  a  man  who  could  behave  as  he  had 
behaved  to  the  cabin-boy. 

At  this  moment,  as  he  opened  his  mouth  to  speak,  puff 
after  puff  struck  the  schooner  and  pressed  her  side  under. 
The  wind  shrieked  a  wild  song  through  the  rigging.  Some 
of  the  hunters  glanced  anxiously  aloft.  The  lee  rail, 
where  the  dead  man  lay,  was  buried  in  the  sea,  and  as 
the  schooner  lifted  and  righted  the  water  swept  across  the 
deck,  wetting  us  above  our  shoe-tops.  A  shower  of  rain 
drove  down  upon  us,  each  drop  stinging  like  a  hailstone. 
As  it  passed,  Wolf  Larsen  began  to  speak,  the  bare-headed 
men  swaying  in  unison  to  the  heave  and  lunge  of  the  deck. 

"I  only  remember  one  part  of  the  service,"  he  said, 
"  and  that  is,  '  And  the  body  shall  be  cast  into  the  sea/ 
So  cast  it  in." 

He  ceased  speaking.  The  men  holding  the  hatch-cover 
seemed  perplexed,  puzzled  no  doubt  by  the  briefness  of 
the  ceremony.  He  burst  upon  them  in  a  fury. 

"  Lift  up  that  end  there,  damn  you !  What  the  hell's 
the  matter  with  you  ?  " 

They  elevated  the  end  of  the  hatch-cover  with  pitiful 
haste,  and,  like  a  dog  flung  overside,  the  dead  man  slid 
feet  first  into  the  sea.  The  coal  at  his  feet  dragged  him 
down.  He  was  gone. 

"  Johansen,"  Wolf  Larsen  said  briskly  to  the  new  mate, 


THE  SEA-WOLF  35 

"keep  all  hands  on  deck  now  they're  here.  Get  in  the 
topsails  and  jibs  and  make  a  good  job  of  it.  We're  in  for 
a  sou'easter.  Better  reef  the  jib  and  mainsail,  too,  while 
you're  about  it." 

In  a  moment  the  decks  were  in  commotion,  Johansen 
bellowing  orders  and  the  men  pulling  or  letting  go  ropes 
of  various  sorts  —  all  naturally  confusing  to  a  landsman 
such  as  myself.  But  it  was  the  heartlessness  of  it  that 
especially  struck  me.  The  dead  man  was  an  episode  that 
was  past,  an  incident  that  was  dropped,  in  a  canvas  cover- 
ing with  a  sack  of  coal,  while  the  ship  sped  along  and  her 
work  went  on.  Nobody  had  been  affected.  The  hunters 
were  laughing  at  a  fresh  story  of  Smoke's  ;  the  men  pull- 
ing and  hauling,  and  two  of  them  climbing  aloft;  Wolf 
Larsen  was  studying  the  clouding  sky  to  windward ;  and 
the  dead  man,  dying  obscenely,  buried  sordidly,  and  sink- 
ing down,  down  — 

Then  it  was  that  the  cruelty  of  the  sea,  its  relentlessness 
and  awfulness,  rushed  upon  me.  Life  had  become  cheap 
and  tawdry,  a  beastly  and  inarticulate  thing,  a  soulless  stir- 
ring of  the  ooze  and  slime.  I  held  on  to  the  weather  -rail, 
close  by  the  shrouds,  and  gazed  out  across  the  desolate 
foaming  waves  to  the  low-lying  fog-banks  that  hid  San 
Francisco  and  the  California  coast.  Rain-squalls  were 
driving  in  between,  and  I  could  scarcely  see  the  fog.  And 
this  strange  vessel,  with  its  terrible  men,  pressed  under  by 
wind  and  sea  and  ever  leaping  up  and  out,  was  heading 
away  into  the  southwest,  into  the  great  and  lonely  Pacific 
expanse. 


CHAPTER   IV  , 

WHAT  happened  to  me  next  on  the  sealing-schooner  Ghost, 
as  I  strove  to  fit  into  my  new  environment,  are  matters 
of  humiliation  and  pain.  The  cook,  who  was  called  "  the 
doctor"  by  the  crew,  "Tommy"  by  the  hunters,  and 
"  Cooky  "  by  Wolf  Larsen,  was  a  changed  person.  The 
difference  worked  in  my  status  brought  about  a  corre- 
sponding difference  in  treatment  from  him.  Servile  and 
fawning  as  he  had  been  before,  he  was  now  as  domineering 
and  bellicose.  In  truth,  I  was  no  longer  the  fine  gentle- 
man with  a  skin  soft  as  a  "  lydy's,"  but  only  an  ordinary 
and  very  worthless  cabin-boy. 

He  absurdly  insisted  upon  my  addressing  him  as  Mr. 
Mugridge,  and  his  behavior  and  carriage  were  insufferable 
as  he  showed  me  my  duties.  Besides  my  work  in  the 
cabin,  with  its  four  small  staterooms,  I  was  supposed  to  be 
his  assistant  in  the  galley,  and  my  colossal  ignorance  con- 
cerning such  things  as  peeling  potatoes  or  washing  greasy 
pots  was  a  source  of  unending  and  sarcastic  wonder  to 
him.  He  refused  to  take  into  consideration  what  I  was, 
or,  rather,  what  my  life  and  the  things  I  was  accustomed 
to  had  been.  This  was  part  of  the  attitude  he  chose  to 
adopt  toward  me;  and  I  confess,  ere  the  day  was  done, 
that  I  hated  him  with  more  lively  feelings  than  I  had  ever 
hated  any  one  in  my  life  before. 

This  first  day  was  made  more  difficult  for  me  from 
the  fact  that  the  Gkost,  under  close  reefs,  (terms  such  as 
these  I  did  not  learn  till  later),  was  plunging  through  what 

36 


THE  SEA-WOLF  37 

Mr.  Mugridge  called  an  "  'owlin'  sou'easter."  At  half-past 
five,  under  his  directions,  I  set  the  table  in  the  cabin,  with 
rough-weather  trays  in  place,  and  then  carried  the  tea  and 
cooked  food  down  from  the  galley.  In  this  connection  I 
cannot  forbear  relating  my  first  experience  with  a  boarding 
sea. 

"  Look  sharp  or  you'll  get  doused,"  was  Mr.  Mugridge's 
parting  injunction,  as  I  left  the  galley  with  a  big  tea-pot  in 
one  hand,  and  in  the  hollow  of  the  other  arm  several 
loaves  of  fresh-baked  bread.  One  of  the  hunters,  a  tall, 
loose-jointed  chap  named  Henderson,  was  going  aft  at  the 
time  from  the  steerage,  (the  name  the  hunters  facetiously 
gave  their  midships  sleeping  quarters),  to  the  cabin.  Wolf 
Larsen  was  on  the  poop,  smoking  his  everlasting  cigar. 

"  'Ere  she  comes.     Sling  yer  'ook  !  "  the  cook  cried. 

I  stopped,  for  I  did  not  know  what  was  coming,  and 
saw  the  galley  door  slide  shut  with  a  bang.  Then  I  saw 
Henderson  leaping  like  a  madman  for  the  main  rigging, 
up  which  he  shot,  on  the  inside,  till  he  was  many  feet 
higher  than  my  head.  Also  I  saw  a  great  wave,  curling 
and  foaming,  poised  far  above  the  rail.  I  was  directly 
under  it.  My  mind  did  not  work  quickly,  everything  was 
so  new  and  strange.  I  grasped  that  I  was  in  danger,  but 
that  was  all.  I  stood  still,  in  trepidation.  Then  Wolf 
Larsen  shouted  from  the  poop :  — 

"  Grab  hold  something,  you  —  you  Hump  !  " 

But  it  was  too  late.  I  sprang  toward  the  rigging,  to 
which  I  might  have  clung,  and  was  met  by  the  descend- 
ing wall  of  water.  What  happened  after  that  was  very 
confusing.  I  was  beneath  the  water,  suffocating  and 
drowning.  My  feet  were  out  from  under  me,  and  I  was 
turning  over  and  over  and  being  swept  along  I  knew  not 
where.  Several  times  I  collided  against  hard  objects,  once 


38  THE  SEA-WOLF 

striking  my  right  knee  a  terrible  blow.  Then  the  flood 
seemed  suddenly  to  subside  and  I  was  breathing  the  good 
air  again.  I  had  been  swept  against  the  galley  and  around 
the  steerage  companion  way  from  the  weather  side  into  the 
lee  scuppers.  The  pain  from  my  hurt  knee  was  agonizing. 
I  could  not  put  my  weight  on  it,  or,  at  least,  I  thought  I 
could  not  put  my  weight  on  it;  and  I  felt  sure  the  leg 
was  broken.  But  the  cook  was  after  me,  shouting  through 
the  lee  galley  door : 

"'Ere,  you!  Don't  tyke  all  night  about  it!  Where's 
the  pot  ?  Lost  overboard  ?  Serve  you  bloody  well  right 
if  yer  neck  was  broke  !  " 

I  managed  to  struggle  to  my  feet.  The  great  tea-pot 
was  still  in  my  hand.  I  limped  to  the  galley  and  handed 
it  to  him.  But  he  was  consuming  with  indignation,  real 
or  feigned. 

"Gawd  blime  me  if  you  ayn't  a  slob.  Wot 're  you 
good  for  anyw'y,  I'd  like  to  know  ?  Eh  ?  Wot  're  you 
good  for  anyw'y?  Cawn't  even  carry  a  bit  of  tea  aft 
without  losin'  it.  Now  I'll  'ave  to  boil  some  more. 

"  An'  wot  're  you  snifflin'  about  ? "  he  burst  out  at  me, 
with  renewed  rage.  "  'Cos  you've  'urt  yer  pore  little  Jeg, 
pore  little  mamma's  darlin'." 

I  was  not  sniffling,  though  my  face  might  well  have 
been  drawn  and  twitching  from  the  pain.  But  I  called 
up  all  my  resolution,  set  my  teeth,  and  hobbled  back  and 
forth  from  galley  to  cabin  and  cabin  to  galley  without 
further  mishap.  Two  things  I  had  acquired  by  my  acci- 
dent :  an  injured  kneecap  that  went  undressed  and  from 
which  I  suffered  for  weary  months,  and  the  name  of 
"Hump,"  which  Wolf  Larsen  had  called  me  from  the 
poop.  Thereafter,  fore  and  aft,  I  was  known  by  no  other 
name,  until  the  term  became  a  part  of  my  thought- 


THE  SEA-WOLF  39 

processes  and  I  identified  it  with  myself,  thought  of  myself 
as  Hump,  as  though  Hump  were  I  and  had  always  been  I. 

It  was  no  easy  task,  waiting  on  the  cabin  table,  where 
sat  Wolf  Larsen,  Johansen,  and  the  six  hunters.  The 
cabin  was  small,  to  begin  with,  and  to  move  around,  as  I 
was  compelled  to,  was  not  made  easier  by  the  schooner's 
violent  pitching  and  wallowing.  But  what  struck  me 
most  forcibly  was  the  total  lack  of  sympathy  on  the  part 
of  the  men  whom  I  served.  I  could  feel  my  knee  through 
my  clothes,  swelling,  and  swelling,  and  I  was  sick 
and  faint  from  the  pain  of  it.  I  could  catch  glimpses 
of  my  face,  white  and  ghastly,  distorted  with  pain,  in  the 
cabin  mirror.  All  the  men  must  have  seen  my  condition, 
but  not  one  spoke  or  took  notice  of  me,  till  I  was  almost 
grateful  to  Wolf  Larsen,  later  on,  (I  was  washing  the 
dishes),  when  he  said : 

"  Don't  let  a  little  thing  like  that  bother  you.  You'll 
get  used  to  such  things  in  time.  It  may  cripple  you  some, 
but  all  the  same  you'll  be  learning  to  walk. 

"  That's  what  you  call  a  paradox,  isn't  it  ? "  he  added. 

He  seemed  pleased  when  I  nodded  my  head  with  the 
customary  "  Yes,  sir." 

"  I  suppose  you  know  a  bit  about  literary  things  ?  Eh  ? 
Good.  I'll  have  some  talks  with  you  sometime." 

And  then,  taking  no  further  account  of  me,  he  turned  his 
back  and  went  up  on  deck. 

That  night,  when  I  had  finished  an  endless  amount  of 
work,  I  was  sent  to  sleep  in  the  steerage,  where  I  made 
up  a  spare  bunk.  I  was  glad  to  get  out  of  the  detestable 
presence  of  the  cook  and  to  be  off  my  feet.  To  my  sur- 
prise, my  clothes  had  dried  on  me  and  there  seemed  no 
indications  of  catching  cold,  either  from  the  last  soaking 
or  from  the  prolonged  soaking  from  the  foundering  of  the 


4<D  THE  SEA-WOLF 

Martinez.  Under  ordinary  circumstances,  after  all  that  I 
had  undergone,  I  should  have  been  fit  for  bed  and  a 
trained  nurse. 

But  my  knee  was  bothering  me  terribly.  As  well  as  I 
could  make  out,  the  kneecap  seemed  turned  up  on  edge 
in  the  midst  of  the  swelling.  As  I  sat  in  my  bunk  examin- 
ing it,  (the  six  hunters  were  all  in  the  steerage,  smoking 
and  talking  in  loud  voices),  Henderson  took  a  passing 
glance  at  it. 

"  Looks  nasty,"  he  commented.  "  Tie  a  rag  around  it 
and  it'll  be  all  right." 

That  was  all ;  and  on  the  land  I  would  have  been  lying 
on  the  broad  of  my  back,  with  a  surgeon  attending  on  me, 
and  with  strict  injunctions  to  do  nothing  but  rest.  But  I 
must  do  these  men  justice.  Callous  as  they  were  to  my 
suffering,  they  were  equally  callous  to  their  own  when 
anything  befell  them.  And  this  was  due,  I  believe,  first, 
to  habit ;  and  second,  to  the  fact  that  they  were  less  sensi- 
tively organized.  I  really  believe  that  a  finely  organized, 
high-strung  man  would  suffer  twice  and  thrice  as  much  as 
they  from  a  like  injury. 

Tired  as  I  was,  —  exhausted,  in  fact,  —  I  was  prevented 
from  sleeping  by  the  pain  in  my  knee.  It  was  all  I  could 
do  to  keep  from  groaning  aloud.  At  home  I  should  un- 
doubtedly have  given  vent  to  my  anguish ;  but  this  new  and 
elemental  environment  seemed  to  call  for  a  savage  repres- 
sion. Like  the  savage,  the  attitude  of  these  men  was 
stoical  in  great  things,  childish  in  little  things.  I  remem- 
ber, later  in  the  voyage,  seeing  Kerfoot,  another  of  the 
hunters,  lose  a  finger  by  having  it  smashed  to  a  jelly;  and 
he  did  not  even  murmur  or  change  the  expression  on 
his  face.  Yet  I  have  seen  the  same  man,  time  and  again, 
fly  into  the  most  outrageous  passion  over  a  trifle. 


THE  SEA-WOLF  41 

He  was  doing  it  now,  vociferating,  bellowing,  waving  his 
arms,  and  cursing  like  a  fiend,  and  all  because  of  a  dis- 
agreement with  another  hunter  as  to  whether  a  seal  pup 
knew  instinctively  how  to  swim.  He  held  that  it  did,  that 
it  could  swim  the  moment  it  was  born.  The  other  hunter, 
Latimer,  a  lean,  Yankee-looking  fellow  with  shrewd,  nar- 
row-slitted  eyes,  held  otherwise,  held  that  the  seal  pup  was 
born  on  the  land  for  no  other  reason  than  that  it  could  not 
swim,  that  its  mother  was  compelled  to  teach  it  to  swim 
as  birds  were  compelled  to  teach  their  nestlings  how  to 
fly. 

For  the  most  part,  the  remaining  four  hunters  leaned  on 
the  table  or  lay  in  their  bunks  and  left  the  discussion  to 
the  two  antagonists.  But  they  were  supremely  interested, 
for  every  little  while  they  ardently  took  sides,  and  some- 
times all  were  talking  at  once,  till  their  voices  surged  back 
and  forth  in  waves  of  sound  like  mimic  thunder-rolls  in  the 
confined  space.  Childish  and  immaterial  as  the  topic  was, 
the  quality  of  their  reasoning  was  still  more  childish  and 
immaterial.  In  truth,  there  was  very  little  reasoning  or 
none  at  all.  Their  method  was  one  of  assertion,  assump- 
tion, and  denunciation.  They  proved  that  a  seal  pup  could 
swim  or  not  swim  at  birth  by  stating  the  proposition  very 
bellicosely  and  then  following  it  up  with  an  attack  on  the 
opposing  man's  judgment,  common  sense,  nationality,  or 
past  history.  Rebuttal  was  precisely  similar.  I  have 
related  this  in  order  to  show  the  mental  caliber  of  the 
men  with  whom  I  was  thrown  in  contact.  Intellectually 
they  were  children,  inhabiting  the  physical  forms  of 
men. 

And  they  smoked,  incessantly  smoked,  using  a  coarse, 
cheap,  and  offensive-smelling  tobacco.  The  air  was  thick 
and  murky  with  the  smoke  of  it ;  and  this,  combined  with 


42  THE   SEA-WOLF 

the  violent  movement  of  the  ship  as  she  struggled  through 
the  storm,  would  surely  have  made  me  seasick  had  I  been 
a  victim  to  that  malady.  As  it  was,  it  made  me  quite 
squeamish,  though  this  nausea  might  have  been  due  to  the 
pain  of  my  leg  and  exhaustion. 

As  I  lay  there  thinking,  I  naturally  dwelt  upon  myself 
and  my  situation.  It  was  unparalleled,  undreamed-of,  that 
I,  Humphrey  Van  Weyden,  a  scholar  and  a  dilettante,  if  you 
please,  in  things  artistic  and  literary,  should  be  lying  here 
on  a  Bering  Sea  seal-hunting  schooner.  Cabin-boy  !  I  had 
never  done  any  hard  manual  labor,  or  scullion  labor,  in  my 
life.  I  had  lived  a  placid,  uneventful,  sedentary  existence 
all  my  days  —  the  life  of  a  scholar  and  a  recluse  on  an 
assured  and  comfortable  income.  Violent  life  and  athletic 
sports  had  never  appealed  to  me.  I  had  always  been  a 
book-worm  ;  so  my  sisters  and  father  had  called  me  during 
my  childhood.  I  had  gone  camping  but  once  in  my  life, 
and  then  I  left  the  party  almost  at  its  start  and  returned 
to  the  comforts  and  conveniences  of  a  roof.  And  here  I 
was,  with  dreary  and  endless  vistas  before  me  of  table- 
setting,  potato-peeling,  and  dish-washing.  And  I  was 
not  strong.  The  doctors  had  always  said  that  I  had  a 
remarkable  constitution,  but  I  had  never  developed  it  or 
my  body  through  exercise.  My  muscles  were  small  and 
soft,  like  a  woman's,  or  so  the  doctors  had  said  time  and 
again  in  the  course  of  their  attempts  to  persuade  me  to  go 
in  for  physical-culture  fads.  But  I  had  preferred  to  use 
my  head,  rather  than  my  body ;  and  here  I  was,  in  no  fit 
condition  for  the  rough  life  in  prospect. 

These  are  merely  a  few  of  the  things  that  went  through 
my  mind,  and  are  related  for  the  sake  of  vindicating 
myself  in  advance  in  the  weak  and  helpless  role  I  was 
destined  to  play.  But  I  thought,  also,  of  my  mother  and 


THE  SEA-WOLF  43 

sisters,  and  pictured  their  grief.  I  was  among  the  missing 
dead  of  the  Martinez  disaster,  an  unrecovered  body.  I 
could  see  the  head-lines  in  the  papers ;  the  fellows  at  the 
University  Club  and  the  Bibelot  shaking  their  heads  and 
saying,  "  Poor  chap  !  "  And  I  could  see  Charley  Furuseth, 
as  I  had  said  good-by  to  him  that  morning,  lounging  in 
a  dressing-gown  on  the  be-pillowed  window  couch  and 
delivering  himself  of  oracular  and  pessimistic  epigrams. 

And  all  the  while,  rolling,  plunging,  climbing  the  mov- 
ing mountains  and  falling  and  wallowing  in  the  foaming 
valleys,  the  schooner  Ghost  was  fighting  her  way  farther 
and  farther  into  the  heart  of  the  Pacific  —  and  I  was  on 
her.  I  could  hear  the  wind  above.  It  came  to  my  ears 
as  a  muffled  roar.  Now  and  again  feet  stamped  overhead. 
An  endless  creaking  was  going  on  all  about  me,  the  wood- 
work and  the  fittings  groaning  and  squeaking  and  com- 
plaining in  a  thousand  keys.  The  hunters  were  still 
arguing  and  roaring  like  some  semi-human  amphibious 
breed.  The  air  was  filled  with  oaths  and  indecent  expres- 
sions. I  could  see  their  faces,  flushed  and  angry,  the 
brutality  distorted  and  emphasized  by  the  sickly  yellow 
of  the  sea-lamps  which  rocked  back  and  forth  with  the 
ship.  Through  the  dim  smoke-haze  the  bunks  looked  like 
the  sleeping  dens  of  animals  in  a  menagerie.  Oilskins 
and  sea-boots  were  hanging  from  the  walls,  and  here  and 
there  rifles  and  shotguns  rested  securely  in  the  racks.  It 
was  a  sea-fitting  for  the  buccaneers  and  pirates  of  bygone 
years.  My  imagination  ran  riot,  and  still  I  could  not  sleep. 
And  it  was  a  long,  long  night,  weary  and  dreary  and  long. 


CHAPTER  V 

BUT  my  first  night  in  the  hunters'  steerage  was  also  my 
last.  Next  day  Johansen,  the  new  mate,  was  routed  from 
the  cabin  by  Wolf  Larsen,  and  sent  into  the  steerage  to 
sleep  thereafter,  while  I  took  possession  of  the  tiny  cabin 
state-room,  which,  on  the  first  day  of  the  voyage,  had  al- 
ready had  two  occupants.  The  reason  for  this  change  was 
quickly  learned  by  the  hunters,  and  became  the  cause  of  a 
deal  of  grumbling  on  their  part.  It  seemed  that  Johansen, 
in  his  sleep,  lived  over  each  night  the  events  of  the  day. 
His  incessant  talking  and  shouting  and  bellowing  of  orders 
had  been  too  much  for  Wolf  Larsen,  who  had  accordingly 
foisted  the  nuisance  upon  his  hunters. 

After  a  sleepless  night,  I  arose  weak  and  in  agony,  to 
hobble  through  my  second  day  on  the  Ghost.  Thomas 
Mugridge  routed  me  out  at  half -past  five,  much  in  the 
fashion  that  Bill  Sykes  must  have  routed  out  his  dog ;  but 
Mr.  Mugridge's  brutality  to  me  was  paid  back  in  kind  and 
with  interest.  The  unnecessary  noise  he  made,  (I  had  lain 
wide-eyed  the  whole  night),  must  have  awakened  one  of 
the  hunters ;  for  a  heavy  shoe  whizzed  through  the  semi- 
darkness,  and  Mr.  Mugridge,  with  a  sharp  howl  of  pain, 
humbly  begged  everybody's  pardon.  Later  on,  in  the 
galley,  I  noticed  that  his  ear  was  bruised  and  swollen.  It 
never  went  entirely  back  to  its  normal  shape,  and  was 
called  a  "  cauliflower  ear  "  by  the  sailors. 

The  day  was  filled  with  miserable  variety.  I  had  taken 
my  dried  clothes  down  from  the  galley  the  night  before^ 


THE  SEA-WOLF  4$ 

and  the  first  thing  I  did  was  to  exchange  the  cook's  gar- 
ments for  them.  I  looked  for  my  purse.  In  addition  to 
some  small  change,  (and  I  have  a  good  memory  for  such 
things),  it  had  contained  one  hundred  and  eighty-five  dollars 
in  gold  and  paper.  The  purse  I  found,  but  its  contents, 
with  the  exception  of  the  small  silver,  had  been  abstracted. 
I  spoke  to  the  cook  about  it,  when  I  went  on  deck  to  take 
up  my  duties  in  the  galley,  and  though  I  had  looked  for- 
ward to  a  surly  answer,  I  had  not  expected  the  belligerent 
harangue  that  I  received. 

"  Look  'ere,  'Ump,"  he  began,  a  malicious  light  in  his 
eyes  and  a  snarl  in  his  throat;  "d'ye  want  yer  nose 
punched?  If  you  think  I'm  a  thief,  just  keep  it  to  yerself, 
or  you'll  find  'ow  bloody  well  mistyken  you  are.  Strike 
me  blind  if  this  ay  n't  gratitude  for  yer  !  'Ere  you  come, 
a  pore  mis'rable  specimen  of  'uman  scum,  an'  I  tykes  yer 
into  my  galley  an'  treats  yer  'ansom,  an'  this  is  wot  I  get 
for  it.  Nex*  time  you  can  go  to  'ell,  say  I,  an'  I've  a  good 
mind  to  give  you  what-for  anyw'y." 

So  saying,  he  put  up  his  fists  and  started  for  me.  To 
my  shame  be  it,  I  cowered  away  from  the  blow  and 
ran  out  the  galley  door.  What  else  was  I  to  do  ?  Force, 
nothing  but  force,  obtained  on  this  brute-ship.  Moral  sua- 
sion was  a  thing  unknown.  Picture  it  to  yourself :  a  man 
of  ordinary  stature,  slender  of  build,  and  with  weak,  unde- 
veloped muscles,  who  has  lived  a  peaceful,  placid  life,  and 
is  unused  to  violence  of  any  sort  —  what  could  such  a  man 
possibly  do  ?  There  was  no  more  reason  that  I  should 
stand  and  face  these  human  beasts  than  that  I  should 
stand  and  face  an  infuriated  bull. 

So  I  thought  it  out  at  the  time,  feeling  the  need  for 
vindication  and  desiring  to  be  at  peace  with  my  conscience. 
But  this  vindication  did  not  satisfy.  Nor  to  this  day  can 


46  THE  SEA-WOLF 

I  permit  my  manhood  to  look  back  upon  those  events  and 
feel  entirely  exonerated.  The  situation  was  something 
that  really  exceeded  rational  formulas  for  conduct  and  de- 
manded more  than  the  cold  conclusions  of  reason.  When 
viewed  in  the  light  of  formal  logic,  there  is  not  one  thing 
of  which  to  be  ashamed ;  but  nevertheless  a  shame  rises 
within  me  at  the  recollection,  and  in  the  pride  of  my  man- 
hood I  feel  that  my  manhood  has  in  unaccountable  ways 
been  smirched  and  sullied. 

All  of  which  is  neither  here  nor  there.  The  speed  with 
which  I  ran  from  the  galley  caused  excruciating  pain  in 
my  knee,  and  I  sank  down  helplessly  at  the  break  of  the 
poop.  But  the  Cockney  had  not  pursued  me. 

"  Look  at  'im  run  !  Look  at  'im  run !  "  I  could  hear  him 
crying.  "  An'  with  a  gyme  leg  at  that !  Come  on  back,  you 
pore  little  mamma's  darling.  I  won't  'it  yer;  no,  I  won't." 

I  came  back  and  went  on  with  my  work ;  and  here  the 
episode  ended  for  the  time,  though  further  developments 
were  yet  to  take  place.  I  set  the  breakfast-table  in  the 
cabin,  and  at  seven  o'clock  waited  on  the  hunters  and 
officers.  The  storm  had  evidently  broken  during  the 
night,  though  a  huge  sea  was  still  running  and  a  stiff  wind 
blowing.  Sail  had  been  made  in  the  early  watches,  so  that 
the  Ghost  was  racing  along  under  everything  except  the 
two  topsails  and  the  flying  jib.  These  three  sails,  I  gath- 
ered from  the  conversation,  were  to  be  set  immediately 
after  breakfast.  I  learned,  also,  that  Wolf  Larsen  was 
anxious  to  make  the  most  of  the  storm,  which  was  driving 
him  to  the  southwest  into  that  portion  of  the  sea  where 
he  expected  to  pick  up  with  the  northeast  trades.  It 
was  before  this  steady  wind  that  he  hoped  to  make  the 
major  portion  of  the  run  to  Japan,  curving  south  into  the 
tropics  and  north  again  as  he  approached  the  coast  of  Asia. 


THE  SEA-WOLF  47 

After  breakfast  I  had  another  unenviable  experience. 
When  I  had  finished  washing  the  dishes,  I  cleaned  the 
cabin  stove  and  carried  the  ashes  up  on  deck  to  empty 
them.  Wolf  Larsen  and  Henderson  were  standing  near 
the  wheel,  deep  in  conversation.  The  sailor,  Johnson,  was 
steering.  As  I  started  toward  the  weather  side  I  saw  him 
make  a  sudden  motion  with  his  head,  which  I  mistook  for 
a  token  of  recognition  and  good  morning.  In  reality,  he 
was  attempting  to  warn  me  to  throw  my  ashes  over  the 
lee  side.  Unconscious  of  my  blunder,  I  passed  by  Wolf 
Larsen  and  the  hunter  and  flung  the  ashes  over  the  side 
to  windward.  The  wind  drove  them  back,  and  not  only 
over  me,  but  over  Henderson  and  Wolf  Larsen.  The  next 
instant  the  latter  kicked  me,  violently,  as  a  cur  is  kicked. 
I  had  not  realized  there  could  be  so  much  pain  in  a  kick. 
I  reeled  away  from  him  and  leaned  against  the  cabin  in  a 
half-fainting  condition.  Everything  was  swimming  before 
my  eyes,  and  I  turned  sick.  The  nausea  overpowered 
me,  and  I  managed  to  crawl  to  the  side  of  the  vessel. 
But  Wolf  Larsen  did  not  follow  me  up.  Brushing  the 
ashes  from  his  clothes,  he  had  resumed  his  conversation 
with  Henderson.  Johansen,  who  had  seen  the  affair 
from  the  break  of  the  poop,  sent  a  couple  of  sailors  aft  to 
clean  up  the  mess. 

Later  in  the  morning  I  received  a  surprise  of  a  totally 
different  sort.  Following  the  cook's  instructions,  I  had 
gone  into  Wolf  Larsen's  state-room  to  put  it  to  rights  and 
make  the  bed.  Against  the  wall,  near  the  head  of  the 
bunk,  was  a  rack  filled  with  books.  I  glanced  over  them, 
noting  with  astonishment  such  names  as  Shakespeare, 
Tennyson,  Poe,  and  De  Quincey.  There  were  scientific 
works,  too,  among  which  were  represented  men  such  as 
Tyndall,  Proctor,  and  Darwin.  Astronomy  and  physics 


48  THE  SEA-WOLF 

were  represented,  and  I  remarked  Bulfinch's  "Age  of 
Fable,"  Shaw's  "  History  of  English  and  American  Litera- 
ture," and  Johnson's  "  Natural  History  "  in  two  large  vol- 
umes. Then  there  were  a  number  of  grammars,  such  as 
Metcalf's,  and  Reed  and  Kellogg's ;  and  I  smiled  as  I  saw 
a  copy  of  "  The  Dean's  English." 

I  could  not  reconcile  these  books  with  the  man  from  what 
I  had  seen  of  him,  and  I  wondered  if  he  could  possibly  read 
them.  But  when  I  came  to  make  the  bed  I  found,  between 
the  blankets,  dropped  apparently  as  he  had  sunk  off  to 
sleep,  a  complete  Browning,  the  Cambridge  Edition.  It 
was  open  at  "In  a  Balcony,"  and  I  noticed,  here  and 
there,  passages  underlined  in  pencil.  Further,  letting  drop 
the  volume  during  a  lurch  of  the  ship,  a  sheet  of  paper 
fell  out.  It  was  scrawled  over  with  geometrical  diagrams 
and  calculations  of  some  sort. 

It  was  patent  that  this  terrible  man  was  no  ignorant 
clod,  such  as  one  would  inevitably  suppose  him  to  be  from 
his  exhibitions  of  brutality.  At  once  he  became  an  enigma. 
One  side  or  the  other  of  his  nature  was  perfectly  compre- 
hensible ;  but  both  sides  together  were  bewildering.  I  had 
already  remarked  that  his  language  was  excellent,  marred 
with  an  occasional  slight  inaccuracy.  Of  course,  in  com- 
mon speech  with  the  sailors  and  hunters,  it  sometimes 
fairly  bristled  with  errors,  which  was  due  to  the  vernacular 
itself ;  but  in  the  few  words  he  had  held  with  me  it  had 
been  clear  and  correct. 

This  glimpse  I  had  caught  of  his  other  side  must  have 
emboldened  me,  for  I  resolved  to  speak  to  him  about  the 
money  I  had  lost. 

"  I  have  been  robbed,"  I  said  to  him,  a  little  later,  when 
I  found  him  pacing  up  and  down  the  poop  alone. 

"  Sir,"  he  corrected,  not  harshly,  but  sternly. 


THE  SEA-WOLF  49 

"  I  have  been  robbed,  sir,"  I  amended. 

"  How  did  it  happen  ?  "  he  asked. 

Then  I  told  him  the  whole  circumstance,  how  my  clothes 
had  been  left  to  dry  in  the  galley,  and  how,  later,  I  was 
nearly  beaten  by  the  cook  when  I  mentioned  the  matter. 

He  smiled  at  my  recital.  "  Pickings,"  he  concluded ; 
"  Cooky's  pickings.  And  don't  you  think  your  miserable 
life  worth  the  price  ?  Besides,  consider  it  a  lesson.  You'll 
learn  in  time  how  to  take  care  of  your  money  for  yourself. 
I  suppose,  up  to  now,  your  lawyer  has  done  it  for  you,  or 
your  business  agent." 

I  could  feel  the  quiet  sneer  through  his  words,  but  de- 
manded, "How  can  I  get  it  back  again ? " 

"  That's  your  lookout.  You  haven't  any  lawyer  or  busi- 
ness agent  now,  so  you'll  have  to  depend  on  yourself. 
When  you  get  a  dollar,  hang  on  to  it.  A  man  who  leaves 
his  money  lying  around,  the  way  you  did,  deserves  to  lose 
it.  Besides,  you  have  sinned.  You  have  no  right  to  put 
temptation  in  the  way  of  your  fellow-creatures.  You 
tempted  Cooky,  and  he  fell.  You  have  placed  his  immor- 
tal soul  in  jeopardy.  By  the  way,  do  you  believe  in  the 
immortal  soul  ? " 

His  lids  lifted  lazily  as  he  asked  the  question,  and  it 
seemed  that  the  deeps  were  opening  to  me  and  that  I  was 
gazing  into  his  soul.  But  it  was  an  illusion.  Far  as  it 
might  have  seemed,  no  man  has  ever  seen  very  far  into 
Wolf  Larsen's  soul,  or  seen  it  at  all,  —  of  this  I  am  con- 
vinced. It  was  a  very  lonely  soul,  I  was  to  learn,  that 
never  unmasked,  though  at  rare  moments  it  played  at 
doing  so. 

"  I  read  immortality  in  your  eyes,"  I  answered,  dropping 
the  "  sir,"  —  an  experiment,  for  I  thought  the  intimacy  of 
the  conversation  warranted  it 


50  THE  SEA-WOLF 

He  took  no  notice.  "  By  that,  I  take  it,  you  see  some- 
thing that  is  alive,  but  that  necessarily  does  not  have  to 
live  forever." 

"  I  read  more  than  that,"  I  continued  boldly. 

"  Then  you  read  consciousness.  You  read  the  con- 
sciousness of  life  that  it  is  alive ;  but  still  no  further  away, 
no  endlessness  of  life." 

How  clearly  he  thought,  and  how  well  he  expressed 
what  he  thought !  From  regarding  me  curiously,  he  turned 
his  head  and  glanced  out  over  the  leaden  sea  to  windward. 
A  bleakness  came  into  his  eyes,  and  the  lines  of  his  mouth 
grew  severe  and  harsh.  He  was  evidently  in  a  pessimistic 
mood. 

"Then  to  what  end?"  he  demanded  abruptly,  turning 
back  to  me.  "  If  I  am  immortal  —  why  ?  " 

I  halted.  How  could  I  explain  my  idealism  to  this  man  ? 
How  could  I  put  into  speech  a  something  felt,  a  something 
like  the  strains  of  music  heard  in  sleep,  a  something  that 
convinced  yet  transcended  utterance  ? 

"  What  do  you  believe,  then  ? "  I  countered. 

"  I  believe  that  life  is  a  mess,"  he  answered  promptly. 
"  It  is  like  yeast,  a  ferment,  a  thing  that  moves  and  may 
move  for  a  minute,  an  hour,  a  year,  or  a  hundred  years, 
but  that  in  the  end  will  cease  to  move.  The  big  eat  the 
little  that  they  may  continue  to  move,  the  strong  eat  the 
weak  that  they  may  retain  their  strength.  The  lucky  eat 
the  most  and  move  the  longest,  that  is  all.  What  do  you 
make  of  those  things?" 

He  swept  his  arm  in  an  impatient  gesture  toward  a 
number  of  the  sailors  who  were  working  on  some  kind 
of  rope  stuff  amidships. 

"  They  move ;  so  does  the  jellyfish  move.  They  move 
in  order  to  eat  in  order  that  they  may  keep  moving, 


THE  SEA- WOLF  51 

There  you  have  it.  They  live  for  their  belly's  sake,  and 
the  belly  is  for  their  sake.  It's  a  circle ;  you  get  no- 
where. Neither  do  they.  In  the  end  they  come  to  a 
standstill.  They  move  no  more.  They  are  dead." 

"  They  have  dreams,"  I  interrupted,  "  radiant,  flashing 
dreams  —  " 

"  Of  grub,"  he  concluded  sententiously. 

"  And  of  more  —  " 

"  Grub.  Of  a  larger  appetite  and  more  luck  in  satisfy- 
ing it."  His  voice  sounded  harsh.  There  was  no  levity 
in  it.  "  For  look  you,  they  dream  of  making  lucky  voy- 
ages which  will  bring  them  more  money,  of  becoming  the 
mates  of  ships,  of  finding  fortunes  —  in  short,  of  being 
in  a  better  position  for  preying  on  their  fellows,  of  having 
all  night  in,  good  grub,  and  somebody  else  to  do  the  dirty 
work.  You  and  I  are  just  like  them.  There  is  no  dif- 
ference, except  that  we  have  eaten  more  and  better.  I 
am  eating  them  now,  and  you,  too.  But  in  the  past  you 
have  eaten  more  than  I  have.  You  have  slept  in  soft 
beds,  and  worn  fine  clothes,  and  eaten  good  meals.  Who 
made  those  beds  ?  and  those  clothes  ?  and  those  meals  ? 
Not  you.  You  never  made  anything  in  your  own  sweat. 
You  live  on  an  income  which  your  father  earned.  You 
are  like  a  frigate  bird  swooping  down  upon  the  boobies 
and  robbing  them  of  the  fish  they  have  caught.  You  are 
one  with  a  crowd  of  men  who  have  made  what  they  call 
a  government,  who  are  masters  of  all  the  other  men, 
and  who  eat  the  food  the  other  men  get  and  would  like 
to  eat  themselves.  You  wear  the  warm  clothes.  They 
made  the  clothes,  but  they  shiver  in  rags  and  ask  you,  the 
lawyer,  or  business  agent  who  handles  your  money,  for  a 
job." 

"  But  that  is  beside  the  matter,"  I  cried. 


52  THE  SEA-WOLF 

"  Not  at  all."  He  was  speaking  rapidly,  now,  and  his 
eyes  were  flashing.  "  It  is  piggishness,  and  it  is  life.  Of 
what  use  or  sense  is  an  immortality  of  piggishness  ?  What 
is  the  end?  What  is  it  all  about?  You  have  made  no 
food.  Yet  the  food  you  have  eaten  or  wasted  might  have 
saved  the  lives  of  a  score  of  wretches  who  made  the  food 
but  did  not  eat  it.  What  immortal  end  did  you  serve  ? 
Or  did  they?  Consider  yourself  and  me.  What  does 
your  boasted  immortality  amount  to  when  your  life  runs 
foul  of  mine?  You  would  like  to  go  back  to  the  land, 
which  is  a  favorable  place  for  your  kind  of  piggishness. 
It  is  a  whim  of  mine  to  keep  you  aboard  this  ship,  where 
my  piggishness  flourishes.  And  keep  you  I  will.  I  may 
make  or  break  you.  You  may  die  to-day,  this  week,  or 
next  month.  I  could  kill  you  now,  with  a  blow  of  my  fist, 
for  you  are  a  miserable  weakling.  But  if  we  are  immortal, 
what  is  the  reason  for  this  ?  To  be  piggish  as  you  and  I 
have  been  all  our  lives  does  not,  seem  to  be  just  the  thing 
for  immortals  to  be  doing.  Again,  what's  it  all  about? 
Why  have  I  kept  you  here  ?  —  " 

"  Because  you  are  stronger,"  I  managed  to  blurt  out 

"  But  why  stronger  ?  "  he  went  on  at  once  with  his  per- 
petual queries.  "  Because  I  am  a  bigger  bit  of  the  fer- 
ment than  you  ?  Don't  you  see  ?  Don't  you  see  ? " 

"  But  the  hopelessness  of  it,"  I  protested. 

"  I  agree  with  you,"  he  answered.  "  Then  why  move 
at  all,  since  moving  is  living  ?  Without  moving  and  being 
part  of  the  yeast  there  would  be  no  hopelessness.  But,  — 
and  there  it  is,  —  we  want  to  live  and  move,  though  we 
have  no  reason  to,  because  it  happens  that  it  is  the  nature 
of  life  to  live  and  move,  to  want  to  live  and  move.  If  it 
were  not  for  this,  life  would  be  dead.  It  is  because  of  this 
life  that  is  in  you  that  you  dream  of  your  immortality.  The 


THE  SEA-WOLF  53 

life  that  is  in  you  is  alive  and  wants  to  go  on  being  alive 
forever.  Bah !  An  eternity  of  piggishness !  " 

He  abruptly  turned  on  his  heel  and  started  forward.  He 
stopped  at  the  break  of  the  poop  and  called  me  to  him. 

"By  the  way,  how  much  was  it  that  Cooky  got  away 
with?"  he  asked. 

"  One  hundred  and  eighty-five  dollars,  sir,"  I  answered. 

He  nodded  his  head.  A  moment  later,  as  I  started 
down  the  companion  stairs  to  lay  the  table  for  dinner,  I 
heard  him  loudly  cursing  some  men  amidships. 


CHAPTER  VI 

BY  the  following  morning  the  storm  had  blown  itself 
quite  out  and  the  Ghost  was  rolling  slightly  on  a  calm 
sea  without  a  breath  of  wind.  Occasional  light  airs  were 
felt,  however,  and  Wolf  Larsen  patrolled  the  poop  con- 
stantly, his  eyes  ever  searching  the  sea  to  the  north- 
eastward, from  which  direction  the  great  trade-wind  must 
blow. 

The  men  were  all  on  deck  and  busy  preparing  their 
various  boats  for  the  season's  hunting.  There  are  seven 
boats  aboard,  the  captain's  dingey,  and  the  six  which  the 
hunters  will  use.  Three,  a  hunter,  a  boat-puller,  and 
a  boat-steerer,  compose  a  boat's  crew.  On  board  the 
schooner  the  boat-pullers  and  steerers  are  the  crew. 
The  hunters,  too,  are  supposed  to  be  in  command  of  the 
watches,  subject,  always,  to  the  orders  of  Wolf  Larsen. 

All  this,  and  more,  I  have  learned.  The  Ghost  is  con- 
sidered the  fastest  schooner  in  both  the  San  Francisco 
and  Victoria  fleets.  In  fact,  she  was  once  a  private 
yacht,  and  was  built  for  speed.  Her  lines  and  fittings 
—  though  I  know  nothing  about  such  things  —  speak 
for  themselves.  Johnson  was  telling  me  about  her  in 
a  short  chat  I  had  with  him  during  yesterday's  second 
dog-watch.  He  spoke  enthusiastically,  with  the  love 
for  a  fine  craft  such  as  some  men  feel  for  horses.  He 
is  greatly  disgusted  with  the  outlook,  and  I  am  given 
to  understand  that  Wolf  Larsen  bears  a  very  unsavory 
reputation  among  the  sealing  captains.  It  was  the  Ghost 

54 


THE  SEA-WOLF  55 

herself  that  lured  Johnson  into  signing  for  the  voyage, 
but  he  is  already  beginning  to  repent 

As  he  told  me,  the  Ghost  is  an  eighty-ton  schooner  of 
a  remarkably  fine  model.  Her  beam,  or  width,  is  twenty- 
three  feet,  and  her  length  a  little  over  ninety  feet.  A  lead 
keel  of  fabulous  but  unknown  weight  makes  her  very 
stable,  while  she  carries  an  immense  spread  of  canvas. 
From  the  deck  to  the  truck  of  the  maintopmast  is  some- 
thing over  a  hundred  feet,  while  the  foremast  with  its 
topmast  is  eight  or  ten  feet  shorter.  I  am  giving  these 
details  so  that  the  size  of  this  little  floating  world  which 
holds  twenty-two  men  may  be  appreciated.  It  is  a  very 
little  world,  a  mote,  a  speck,  and  I  marvel  that  men  should 
dare  to  venture  the  sea  on  a  contrivance  so  small  and 
fragile. 

Wolf  Larsen  has,  also,  a  reputation  for  reckless  carrying 
on  of  sail.  I  overheard  Henderson  and  another  of  the 
hunters,  Standish,  a  Californian,  talking  about  it.  Two 
years  ago  he  dismasted  the  Ghost  in  a  gale  on  Bering  Sea, 
whereupon  the  present  masts  were  put  in,  which  are 
stronger  and  heavier  in  every  way.  He  is  said  to  have 
remarked,  when  he  put  them  in,  that  he  preferred  turning 
her  over  to  losing  the  sticks. 

Every  man  aboard,  with  the  exception  of  Johansen,  who 
is  rather  overcome  by  his  promotion,  seems  to  have  an 
excuse  for  having  sailed  on  the  Ghost.  Half  the  men 
forward  are  deep-water  sailors,  and  their  excuse  is  that  they 
did  not  know  anything  about  her  or  her  captain.  And 
those  who  do  know,  whisper  that  the  hunters,  while  ex- 
cellent shots,  were  so  notorious  for  their  quarrelsome  and 
rascally  proclivities  that  they  could  not  sign  on  any  decent 
schooner. 

I  have  made  the  acquaintance  of  another  one  of  the 


56  THE  SEA-WOLF 

crew,  —  Louis  he  is  called,  a  rotund  and  jovial-faced  Nova 
Scotia  Irishman,  and  a  very  sociable  fellow,  prone  to  talk 
as  long  as  he  can  find  a  listener.  In  the  afternoon,  while 
the  cook  was  below  asleep  and  I  was  peeling  the  ever- 
lasting potatoes,  Louis  dropped  into  the  galley  for  a 
"  yarn."  His  excuse  for  being  aboard  was  that  he  was 
drunk  when  he  signed.  He  assured  me  again  and  again 
that  it  was  the  last  thing  in  the  world  he  would  dream  of 
doing  in  a  sober  moment.  It  seems  that  he  has  been 
seal-hunting  regularly  each  season  for  a  dozen  years,  and 
is  accounted  one  of  the  two  or  three  very  best  boat-steerers 
in  both  fleets. 

"  Ah,  my  boy,"  he  shook  his  head  ominously  at  me, 
"  'tis  the  worst  schooner  ye  could  iv  selected,  nor  were  ye 
drunk  at  the  time  as  was  I.  'Tis  sealin'  is  the  sailor's 
paradise  —  on  other  ships  than  this.  The  mate  was  the 
first,  but  mark  me  words,  there'll  be  more  dead  men  before 
the  trip  is  done  with.  Hist,  now,  between  you  an'  meself 
and  the  stanchion  there,  this  Wolf  Larsen  is  a  regular 
devil,  an'  the  Ghosfft.  be  a  hell-ship  like  she's  always  ben 
since  he  had  hold  iv  her.  Don't  I  know  ?  Don't  I  know  ? 
Don't  I  remember  him  in  Hakodate  two  years  gone, 
when  he  had  a  row  an'  shot  four  iv  his  men  ?  Wasn't  I 
a-layin'  on  the  Emma  L.,  not  three  hundred  yards  away  ? 
An*  there  was  a  man  the  same  year  he  killed  with  a 
blow  iv  his  fist.  Yes,  sir,  killed  'im  dead-oh.  His  head 
must  iv  smashed  like  an  eggshell.  An'  wasn't  there  the 
Governor  of  Kura  Island,  an'  the  Chief  iv  Police,  Japanese 
gentlemen,  sir,  an'  didn't  they  come  aboard  the  Ghost  as 
his  guests,  abringin'  their  wives  along  —  wee  an'  pretty 
little  bits  of  things  like  you  see  'em  painted  on  fans.  An" 
as  he  was  a-gettin'  under  way,  didn't  the  fond  husbands 
get  left  astern-like  in  their  sarnpan,  as  it  might  be  by 


THE  SEA-WOLF  57 

accident  ?  An'  wasn't  it  a  week  later  that  the  poor  little 
ladies  was  put  ashore  on  the  other  side  of  the  island,  with 
nothin'  before  'em  but  to  walk  home  acrost  the  mountains 
on  their  weeny-teeny  little  straw  sandals  which  wouldn't 
hang  together  a  mile  ?  Don't  I  know  ?  'Tis  the  beast  he 
is,  this  Wolf  Larsen  —  the  great  big  beast  mentioned  iv  in 
Revelation ;  an'  no  good  end  will  he  ever  come  to.  But 
I've  said  nothin'  to  ye,  mind  ye.  I've  whispered  never  a 
word ;  for  old  fat  Louis '11  live  the  voyage  out  if  the  last 
mother's  son  of  yez  go  to  the  fishes." 

"  Wolf  Larsen !  "  he  snorted  a  moment  later.  "  Listen 
to  the  word,  will  ye !  Wolf  —  'tis  what  he  is.  He's  not 
black-hearted  like  some  men.  'Tis  no  heart  he  has  at  all. 
Wolf,  just  wolf,  'tis  what  he  is.  D'ye  wonder  he's  well 
named  ? " 

"  But  if  he  is  so  well  known  for  what  he  is,"  I  queried, 
"  how  is  it  that  he  can  get  men  to  ship  with  him  ? " 

"  An'  how  is  it  ye  can  get  men  to  do  anything  on  God's 
earth  an'  sea  ? "  Louis  demanded  with  Celtic  fire.  "  How 
d'ye  find  me  aboard  if  'twasn't  that  I  was  drunk  as  a  pig 
when  I  put  me  name  down  ?  There's  them  that  can't 
sail  with  better  men,  like  the  hunters,  and  them  that  don't 
know,  like  the  poor  devils  of  wind-jammers  for'ard  there. 
But  they'll  come  to  it,  they'll  come  to  it,  an'  be  sorry  the 
day  they  was  born.  I  could  weep  for  the  poor  creatures, 
did  I  but  forget  poor  old  fat  Louis  and  the  troubles  before 
him.  But  'tis  not  a  whisper  I've  dropped,  mind  ye,  not  a 
whisper." 

"Them  hunters  is  the  wicked  boys,"  he  broke  forth 
again,  for  he  suffered  from  a  constitutional  plethora  of 
speech.  "  But  wait  till  they  get  to  cutting  up  iv  jinks  and 
rowin'  'round.  He's  the  boy'll  fix  'em.  'Tis  him  that'll 
put  the  fear  of  God  in  their  rotten  black  hearts.  Look  at 


58  THE  SEA-WOLF 

that  hunter  iv  mine,  Horner.  'Jock'  Horner  they  call 
him,  so  quiet-like  an'  easy-goin',  soft-spoken  as  a  girl,  till 
ye'd  think  butter  wouldn't  melt  in  the  mouth  iv  him. 
Didn't  he  kill  his  boat-steerer  last  year  ?  'Twas  called  a 
sad  accident,  but  I  met  the  boat-puller  in  Yokohama  an' 
the  straight  iv  it  was  given  me.  An'  there's  Smoke,  the 
black  little  devil  —  didn't  the  Roosians  have  him  for  three 
years  in  the  salt  mines  of  Siberia,  for  poachin'  on  Copper 
Island,  which  is  a  Roosian  preserve  ?  Shackled  he  was, 
hand  an'  foot,  with  his  mate.  An*  didn't  they  have  words 
or  a  ruction  of  some  kind?  —  for  'twas  the  other  fellow 
Smoke  sent  up  in  the  buckets  to  the  top  of  the  mine ;  an' 
a  piece  at  the  time  he  went  up,  a  leg  to-day,  an'  to-morrow 
an  arm,  the  next  day  the  head,  an'  so  on." 

"  But  you  can't  mean  it ! "  I  cried  out,  overcome  with 
the  horror  of  it. 

"  Mean  what  ? "  he  demanded,  quick  as  a  flash.  "  Tis 
nothin'  I've  said.  Deef  I  am,  and  dumb,  as  ye  should  be 
for  the  sake  iv  your  mother ;  an'  never  once  have  I  opened 
me  lips  but  to  say  fine  things  iv  them  an'  him,  God  curse 
his  soul,  an'  may  he  rot  in  purgatory  ten  thousand  years, 
and  then  go  down  to  the  last  an'  deepest  hell  iv  all ! " 

Johnson,  the  man  who  had  chafed  me  raw  when  I  first 
came  aboard,  seemed  the  least  equivocal  of  the  men  forward 
or  aft.  In  fact,  there  was  nothing  equivocal  about  him. 
One  was  struck  at  once  by  his  straightforwardness  and 
manliness,  which,  in  turn,  were  tempered  by  a  modesty 
which  might  be  mistaken  for  timidity.  But  timid  he  was 
not.  He  seemed,  rather,  to  have  the  courage  of  his  con- 
victions, the  certainty  of  his  manhood.  It  was  this  that 
made  him  protest,  at  the  commencement  of  our  acquaint- 
ance, against  being  called  Yonson.  And  upon  this,  and 
him,  Louis  passed  judgment  and  prophecy. 


THE  SEA-WOLF  59 

"  'Tis  a  fine  chap,  that  squarehead  Johnson  we've  for'ard 
with  us,"  he  said.  "  The  best  sailorman  in  the  fo'c'sle. 
He's  my  boat-puller.  But  it's  to  trouble  he'll  come  with 
Wolf  Larsen,  as  the  sparks  fly  upward.  It's  meself  that 
knows.  I  can  see  it  brewin'  an'  comin'  up  like  a  storm  in 
the  sky.  I've  talked  to  him  like  a  brother,  but  it's  little  he 
sees  in  takin*  in  his  lights  or  flyin'  false  signals.  He 
grumbles  out  when  things  don't  go  to  suit  him,  and  there'll 
be  always  some  telltale  carryin'  word  iv  it  aft  to  the  Wolf. 
The  Wolf  is  strong,  and  it's  the  way  of  a  wolf  to  hate 
strength,  an'  strength  it  is  he'll  see  in  Johnson  —  no  knuc- 
klin'  under,  and  a  'Yes,  sir,  thank  ye  kindly,  sir,'  for  a 
curse  or  a  blow.  Oh,  she's  aTComin' !  She's  a-comin' ! 
An'  God  knows  where  I'll  get  another  boat-puller !  What 
does  the  fool  up  an'  say,  when  the  old  man  calls  him  Yon- 
son,  but  '  Me  name  is  Johnson,  sir,'  an'  then  spells  it  out, 
letter  for  letter.  Ye  should  iv  seen  the  old  man's  face  !  I 
thought  he'd  let  drive  at  him  on  the  spot.  He  didn't,  but 
he  will,  an'  he'll  break  that  squarehead's  heart,  or  it's  little 
I  know  iv  the  ways  iv  men  on  the  ships  iv  the  sea." 

Thomas  Mugridge  is  becoming  unendurable.  I  am  com- 
pelled to  Mister  him  and  to  Sir  him  with  every  speech. 
One  reason  for  this  is  that  Wolf  Larsen  seems  to  have 
taken  a  fancy  to  him.  It  is  an  unprecedented  thing,  I 
take  it,  for  a  captain  to  be  chummy  with  the  cook ;  but  this 
is  certainly  what  Wolf  Larsen  is  doing.  Two  or  three 
times  he  put  his  head  into  the  galley  and  chaffed  Mugridge 
good-naturedly,  and  once,  this  afternoon,  he  stood  by  the 
break  of  the  poop  and  chatted  with  him  for  fully  fifteen 
minutes.  When  it  was  over,  and  Mugridge  was  back  in 
the  galley,  he  became  greasily  radiant,  and  went  about  his 
work,  humming  coster  songs  in  a  nerve-racking  and  dis- 
cordant falsetto. 


60  THE  SEA-WOLF 

"  I  always  get  along  with  the  officers,"  he  remarked  to 
me  in  a  confidential  tone.  "  I  know  the  w'y,  I  do,  to  myke 
myself  uppreci-y ted.  There  was  my  last  skipper  —  w'y  I 
thought  nothin'  of  droppin'  down  in  the  cabin  for  a  little 
chat  and  a  friendly  glass.  '  Mugridge,'  sez  'e  to  me, 
'  Mugridge,'  sez  'e,  '  you've  missed  yer  vokytion.'  '  An' 
'ow's  that?'  sez  I.  'Yer  should  'a  been  born  a  gentle- 
man, an'  never  'ad  to  work  for  yer  livin'.'  God  strike  me 
dead,  'Ump,  if  that  ayn't  wot  'e  sez,  an'  me  a-sittin'  there 
in  'is  own  cabin,  jolly-like  an'  comfortable,  a-smokin'  'is 
cigars  an'  drinkin'  'is  rum." 

This  chitter-chatter  drove  me  to  distraction.  I  never 
heard  a  voice  I  hated  so.  His  oily,  insinuating  tones,  his 
greasy  smile,  and  his  monstrous  self-conceit  grated  on  my 
nerves  till  sometimes  I  was  all  in  a  tremble.  Positively, 
he  was  the  most  disgusting  and  loathsome  person  I  have 
ever  met.  The  filth  of  his  cooking  was  indescribable  ;  and, 
as  he  cooked  everything  that  was  eaten  aboard,  I  was  com- 
pelled to  select  what  I  ate  with  great  circumspection,  choos- 
ing from  the  least  dirty  of  his  concoctions. 

My  hands  bothered  me  a  great  deal,  unused  as  they  were 
to  work.  The  nails  were  discolored  and  black,  while  the 
skin  was  already  grained  with  dirt  which  even  a  scrubbing- 
brush  could  not  remove.  Then  blisters  came,  in  a  painful 
and  never-ending  procession,  and  I  had  a  great  burn  on  my 
forearm,  acquired  by  losing  my  balance  in  a  roll  of  the 
ship  and  pitching  against  the  galley  stove.  Nor  was  my 
knee  any  better.  The  swelling  had  not  gone  down,  and 
the  cap  was  still  up  on  edge.  Hobbling  about  on  it  from 
morning  to  night  was  not  helping  it  any.  What  I  needed 
was  rest,  if  it  were  ever  to  get  well. 

Rest !  I  never  before  knew  the  meaning  of  the  word. 
I  had  been  resting  all  my  life  and  did  not  know  it. 


THE  SEA-WOLF  6l 

But  now,  could  I  sit  still  for  one  half -hour  and  do  noth- 
ing, not  even  think,  it  would  be  the  most  pleasurable 
thing  in  the  world.  But  it  is  a  revelation,  on  the  other 
hand.  I  shall  be  able  to  appreciate  the  lives  of  the  work- 
ing people  hereafter.  I  did  not  dream  that  work  was  so 
terrible  a  thing.  From  half-past  five  in  the  morning  till 
ten  o'clock  at  night  I  am  everybody's  slave,  with  not  one 
moment  to  myself,  except  such  as  I  can  steal  near  the  end 
of  the  second  dog-watch.  Let  me  pause  for  a  minute  to 
look  out  over  the  sea  sparkling  in  the  sun,  or  to  gaze  at  a 
sailor  going  aloft  to  the  gaff-topsails,  or  running  out  the 
bowsprit,  and  I  am  sure  to  hear  the  hateful  voice,  "  'Ere, 
you,  'Ump,  no  sodgerin'.  I've  got  my  peepers  on  yer." 

There  are  signs  of  rampant  bad  temper  in  the  steerage, 
and  the  gossip  is  going  around  that  Smoke  and  Hender- 
son have  had  a  fight.  Henderson  seems  the  best  of  the 
hunters,  a  slow-going  fellow,  and  hard  to  rouse ;  but  roused 
he  must  have  been,  for  Smoke  had  a  bruised  and  discolored 
eye,  and  looked  particularly  vicious  when  he  came  into  the 
cabin  for  supper. 

A  cruel  thing  happened  just  before  supper,  indicative  of 
the  callousness  and  brutishness  of  these  men.  There  is 
one  green  hand  in  the  crew,  Harrison  by  name,  a  clumsy- 
looking  country  boy,  mastered,  I  imagine,  by  the  spirit  of 
adventure,  and  making  his  first  voyage.  In  the  light 
baffling  airs  the  schooner  had  been  tacking  about  a  great 
deal,  at  which  times  the  sails  pass  from  one  side  to  the 
other  and  a  man  is  sent  aloft  to  shift  over  the  fore-gaff- 
topsail.  In  some  way,  when  Harrison  was  aloft,  the  sheet 
jammed  in  the  block  through  which  it  runs  at  the  end  of 
the  gaff.  As  I  understood  it,  there  were  two  ways  of  get- 
ting it  cleared,  —  first,  by  lowering  the  foresail,  which  was 
comparatively  easy  and  without  danger ;  and  second,  by 


62  THE   SEA- WOLF 

climbing  out  the  peak-halyards  to  the  end  of  the  gaff  itself, 
an  exceedingly  hazardous  performance. 

Johansen  called  out  to  Harrison  to  go  out  the  halyards. 
It  was  patent  to  everybody  that  the  boy  was  afraid.  And 
well  he  might  be,  eighty  feet  above  the  deck,  to  trust  him- 
self on  those  thin  and  jerking  ropes.  Had  there  been  a 
steady  breeze  it  would  not  have  been  so  bad,  but  the  Ghost 
was  rolling  emptily  in  a  long  sea,  and  with  each  roll  the 
canvas  flapped  and  boomed  and  the  halyards  slacked  and 
jerked  taut.  They  were  capable  of  snapping  a  man  off 
like  a  fly  from  a  whip-lash. 

Harrison  heard  the  order  and  understood  what  was  de- 
manded of  him,  but  hesitated.  It  was  probably  the  first 
time  he  had  been  aloft  in  his  life.  Johansen,  who  had 
caught  the  contagion  of  Wolf  Larsen's  masterfulness, 
burst  out  with  a  volley  of  abuse  and  curses. 

"That'll  do,  Johansen,"  Wolf  Larsen  said  brusquely. 
"  I'll  have  you  know  that  I  do  the  swearing  on  this  ship. 
If  I  need  your  assistance,  I'll  call  you  in." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  the  mate  acknowledged  submissively. 

In  the  meantime  Harrison  had  started  out  on  the  halyards. 
I  was  looking  up  from  the  galley  door,  and  I  could  see 
him  trembling,  as  with  ague,  in  every  limb.  He  proceeded 
very  slowly  and  cautiously,  an  inch  at  a  time.  Outlined 
against  the  clear  blue  of  the  sky,  he  had  the  appearance 
of  an  enormous  spider  crawling  along  the  tracery  of  its 
web. 

It  was  a  slight  uphill  climb,  for  the  foresail  peaked 
high ;  and  the  halyards,  running  through  various  blocks 
on  the  gaff  and  mast,  gave  him  separate  holds  for  hands 
and  feet.  But  the  trouble  lay  in  that  the  wind  was  not 
strong  enough  nor  steady  enough  to  keep  the  sail  full. 
When  he  was  halfway  out,  the  Ghost  took  a  long  roll  to 


THE  SEA-WOLF  63 

windward  and  back  again  into  the  hollow  between  two 
seas.  Harrison  ceased  his  progress  and  held  on  tightly. 
Eighty  feet  beneath,  I  could  see  the  agonized  strain  of 
his  muscles  as  he  gripped  for  very  life.  The  sail  emptied 
and  the  gaff  swung  amidships.  The  halyards  slackened, 
and,  though  it  all  happened  very  quickly,  I  could  see 
them  sag  beneath  the  weight  of  his  body.  Then  the  gaff 
swung  to  the  side  with  an  abrupt  swiftness,  the  great  sail 
boomed  like  a  cannon,  and  the  three  rows  of  reef-points 
slatted  against  the  canvas  like  a  volley  of  rifles.  Harrison, 
clinging  on,  made  the  giddy  rush  through  the  air.  This 
rush  ceased  abruptly.  The  halyards  became  instantly 
taut.  It  was  the  snap  of  the  whip.  His  clutch  was 
broken.  One  hand  was  torn  loose  from  its  hold.  The 
other  lingered  desperately  for  a  moment,  and  followed. 
His  body  pitched  out  and  down,  but  in  some  way  he  man- 
aged to  save  himself  with  his  legs.  He  was  hanging  by 
them,  head  downward.  A  quick  effort  brought  his  hands 
up  to  the  halyards  again ;  but  he  was  a  long  time  regain- 
ing his  former  position,  where  he  hung,  a  pitiable  object. 

"  I'll  bet  he  has  no  appetite  for  supper,"  I  heard  Wolf 
Larsen's  voice,  which  came  to  me  from  around  the  corner 
of  the  galley.  "  Stand  from  under,  you,  Johansen ! 
Watch  out !  Here  she  comes !  " 

In  truth,  Harrison  was  very  sick,  as  a  person  is  sea- 
sick; and  for  a  long  time  he  clung  to  his  precarious 
perch  without  attempting  to  move.  Johansen,  however, 
continued  violently  to  urge  him  on  to  the  completion  of 
his  task. 

"  It  is  a  shame,"  I  heard  Johnson  growling  in  painfully 
slow  and  correct  English.  He  was  standing  by  the  main 
rigging,  a  few  feet  away  from  me.  "  The  boy  is  willing 
enough.  He  will  learn  if  he  has  a  chance.  But  this 


64  THE  SEA-WOLF 

is  — "  He  paused  awhile,  for  the  word  "murder"  was 
his  final  judgment. 

"  Hist,  will  ye !  "  Louis  whispered  to  him.  "  For  the 
love  iv  your  mother  hold  your  mouth !  " 

But  Johnson,  looking  on,  still  continued  his  grumbling. 

"  Look  here,"  the  hunter,  Standish,  spoke  to  Wolf  Lar- 
sen,  "that's  my  boat-puller,  and  I  don't  want  to  lose 
him." 

"  That's  all  right,  Standish,"  was  the  reply.  "  He's  your 
boat-puller  when  you've  got  him  in  the  boat ;  but  he's  my 
sailor  when  I  have  him  aboard,  and  I'll  do  what  I  damn 
well  please  with  him.'f 

"  But  that's  no  reason  —  "  Standish  began  in  a  torrent 
of  speech. 

"  That'll  do,  easy  as  she  goes,"  Wolf  Larsen  counselled 
back.  "  I've  told  you  what's  what,  and  let  it  stop  at  that. 
The  man's  mine,  and  I'll  make  soup  of  him  and  eat  it  if 
I  want  to." 

There  was  an  angry  gleam  in  the  hunter's  eye,  but  he 
turned  on  his  heel  and  entered  the  steerage  companionway, 
where  he  remained,  looking  upward.  All  hands  were  on 
deck  now,  and  all  eyes  were  aloft,  where  a  human  life  was 
at  grapples  with  death.  The  callousness  of  these  men, 
to  whom  industrial  organization  gave  control  of  the  lives 
of  other  men,  was  appalling.  I,  who  had  lived  out  of  the 
whirl  of  the  world,  had  never  dreamed  that  its  work  was 
carried  on  in  such  fashion.  Life  had  always  seemed  a 
peculiarly  sacred  thing,  but  here  it  counted  for  nothing, 
was  a  cipher  in  the  arithmetic  of  commerce.  I  must  say, 
however,  that  the  sailors  themselves  were  sympathetic,  as 
instance  the  case  of  Johnson ;  but  the  masters,  (the  hunters 
and  the  captain),  were  heartlessly  indifferent.  Even  the 
protest  of  Standish  arose  out  of  the  fact  that  he  did  not 


THE  SEA-WOLF  65 

wish  to  lose  his  boat-puller.  Had  it  been  some  other 
hunter's  boat-puller,  he,  like  them,  would  have  been  no 
more  than  amused. 

But  to  return  to  Harrison.  It  took  Johansen,  insulting 
and  reviling  the  poor  wretch,  fully  ten  minutes  to  get  him 
started  again.  A  little  later  he  made  the  end  of  the  gaff, 
where,  astride  the  spar  itself,  he  had  a  better  chance  for 
holding  on.  He  cleared  the  sheet,  and  was  free  to  return, 
slightly  down-hill  now,  along  the  halyards  to  the  mast. 
But  he  had  lost  his  nerve.  Unsafe  as  was  his  present 
position,  he  was  loath  to  forsake  it  for  the  more  unsafe 
position  on  the  halyards. 

He  looked  along  the  airy  path  he  must  traverse,  and 
then  down  to  the  deck.  His  eyes  were  wide  and  staring, 
and  he  was  trembling  violently.  I  had  never  seen  fear  so 
strongly  stamped  upon  a  human  face.  Johansen  called 
vainly  for  him  to  come  down.  At  any  moment  he  was 
liable  to  be  snapped  off  the  gaff,  but  he  was  helpless  with 
fright.  Wolf  Larsen,  walking  up  and  down  with  Smoke 
and  in  conversation,  took  no  more  notice  of  him,  though 
he  cried  sharply,  once,  to  the  man  at  the  wheel :  — 

"  You're  off  your  course,  my  man !  Be  careful,  unless 
you're  looking  for  trouble  !  " 

"  Ay,  ay,  sir/'  the  helmsman  responded,  putting  a  couple 
of  spokes  down. 

He  had  been  guilty  of  running  the  Ghost  several  points 
off  her  course  in  order  that  what  little  wind  thers  was 
should  fill  the  foresail  and  hold  it  steady.  He  had  striven 
to  help  the  unfortunate  Harrison  at  the  risk  of  incurring 
Wolf  Larsen's  anger. 

The  time  went  by,  and  the  suspense,  to  me,  was  terrible. 
Thomas  Mugridge,  on  the  other  hand,  considered  it  a 
laughable  affair,  and  was  continually  bobbing  his  head  out 


66  THE  SEA-WOLF 

the  galley  door  to  make  jocose  remarks.  How  I  hated 
him !  And  how  my  hatred  for  him  grew  and  grew,  during 
that  fearful  time,  to  cyclopean  dimensions.  For  the  first 
time  in  my  life  I  experienced  the  desire  to  murder  —  "  saw 
red,"  as  some  of  our  picturesque  writers  phrase  it.  Life 
in  general  might  still  be  sacred,  but  life  in  the  particular 
case  of  Thomas  Mugridge  had  become  very  profane 
indeed.  I  was  frightened  when  I  became  conscious 
that  I  was  seeing  red,  and  the  thought  flashed  through 
my  mind :  was  I,  too,  becoming  tainted  by  the  brutality 
of  my  environment  ?  —  I,  who  even  in  the  most  flagrant 
crimes  had  denied  the  justice  and  righteousness  of  capital 
punishment  ? 

Fully  half  an  hour  went  by,  and  then  I  saw  Johnson 
and  Louis  in  some  sort  of  altercation.  It  ended  with  John- 
son flinging  off  Louis's  detaining  arm  and  starting  forward. 
He  crossed  the  deck,  sprang  into  the  fore  rigging,  and  be- 
gan to  climb.  But  the  quick  eye  of  Wolf  Larsen  caught 
him. 

"  Here,  you,  what  are  you  up  to  ? "  he  cried. 

Johnson's  ascent  was  arrested.  He  looked  his  captain 
in  the  eyes  and  replied  slowly :  — 

"  I  am  going  to  get  that  boy  down." 

"  You'll  get  down  out  of  that  rigging,  and  damn  lively 
about  it !  D'ye  hear  ?  Get  down !  " 

Johnson  hesitated,  but  the  long  years  of  obedience  to 
the  masters  of  ships  overpowered  him,  and  he  dropped 
sullenly  to  the  deck  and  went  on  forward. 

At  half  after  five  I  went  below  to  set  the  cabin  table, 
but  I  hardly  knew  what  I  did,  for  my  eyes  and  brain  were 
filled  with  the  vision  of  a  man,  white-faced  and  trembling, 
comically  like  a  bug,  clinging  to  the  thrashing  gaff.  At 
six  o'clock,  when  I  served  supper,  going  on  deck  to  get  the 


THE  SEA-WOLF  6; 

food  from  the  galley,  I  saw  Harrison,  still  in  the  same 
position.  The  conversation  at  the  table  was  of  other 
things.  Nobody  seemed  interested  in  the  wantonly  im- 
perilled life.  But  making  an  extra  trip  to  the  galley  a 
little  later,  I  was  gladdened  by  the  sight  of  Harrison  stag- 
gering weakly  from  the  rigging  to  the  forecastle  scuttle. 
He  had  finally  summoned  the  courage  to  descend. 

Before  closing  this  incident,  I  must  give  a  scrap  of  con- 
versation I  had  with  Wolf  Larsen  in  the  cabin,  while  I  was 
washing  the  dishes. 

"  You  were  looking  squeamish  this  afternoon,"  he  began. 
"  What  was  the  matter  ? " 

I  could  see  that  he  knew  what  had  made  me  possibly  as 
sick  as  Harrison,  that  he  was  trying  to  draw  me,  and  I 
answered,  "  It  was  because  of  the  brutal  treatment  of  that 
boy." 

He  gave  a  short  laugh.  "  Like  seasickness,  I  suppose. 
Some  men  are  subject  to  it,  and  others  are  not." 

"  Not  so,"  I  objected. 

"  Just  so,"  he  went  on.  "  The  earth  is  as  full  of  brutality 
as  the  sea  is  full  of  motion.  And  some  men  are  made  sick 
by  the  one,  and  some  by  the  other.  That's  the  only  reason." 

"  But  you,  who  make  a  mock  of  human  life,  don't  you 
place  any  value  upon  it  whatever  ? "  I  defnanded. 

"  Value  ?  What  value  ? "  He  looked  at  me,  and  though 
his  eyes  were  steady  and  motionless,  there  seemed  a  cyni- 
cal smile  in  them.  "  What  kind  of  value  ?  How  do  you 
measure  it  ?  Who  values  it  ?  " 

"  I  do,"  I  made  answer. 

"  Then  what  is  it  worth  to  you  ?  Another  man's  life, 
I  mean.  Come,  now,  what  is  it  worth  ?  " 

The  value  of  life  ?  How  could  I  put  a  tangible  value 
upon  it  ?  Somehow,  I,  who  have  always  had  expression, 


68  THE  SEA-WOLF 

lacked  expression  when  with  Wolf  Larsen.  I  have  since  de- 
termined that  a  part  of  it  was  due  to  the  man's  personality, 
but  that  the  greater  part  was  due  to  his  totally  different  out- 
look. Unlike  other  materialists  I  had  met  and  with  whom 
I  had  something  in  common  to  start  on,  I  had  nothing  in  com" 
mon  with  him.  Perhaps,  also,  it  was  the  elemental  simplicity 
of  his  mind  that  baffled  me.  He  drove  so  directly  to  the 
core  of  the  matter,  divesting  a  question  always  of  all  super- 
fluous details,  and  with  such  an  air  of  finality,  that  I  seemed 
to  find  myself  struggling  in  deep  water  with  no  footing 
under  me.  Value  of  life  ?  How  could  I  answer  the  ques- 
tion on  the  spur  of  the  moment  ?  The  sacredness  of  life  I 
had  accepted  as  axiomatic.  That  it  was  intrinsically  valu- 
able was  a  truism  I  had  never  questioned.  But  when  he 
challenged  the  truism  I  was  speechless. 

"  We  were  talking  about  this  yesterday,"  he  said.  "  I 
held  that  life  was  a  ferment,  a  yeasty  something  which 
devoured  life  that  it  might  live,  and  that  living  was  merely 
successful  piggishness.  Why,  if  there  is  anything  in  supply 
and  demand,  life  is  the  cheapest  thing  in  the  world.  There 
is  only  so  much  water,  so  much  earth,  so  much  air ;  but  the 
life  that  is  demanding  to  be  born  is  limitless.  Nature  is  a 
spendthrift.  Look  at  the  fish  and  their  millions  of  eggs. 
For  that  matter^  look  at  you  and  me.  In  our  loins  are 
the  possibilities  of  millions  of  lives.  Could  we  but  find 
time  and  opportunity  and  utilize  the  last  bit  and  every  bit 
of  the  unborn  life  that  is  in  us,  we  could  become  the 
fathers  of  nations  and  populate  continents.  Life  ?  Bah  ! 
It  has  no  value.  Of  cheap  things  it  is  the  cheapest. 
Everywhere  it  goes  begging.  Nature  spills  it  out  with  a 
lavish  hand.  Where  there  is  room  for  one  life,  she  sows 
a  thousand  lives,  and  it's  life  eats  life  till  the  strongest  and 
most  piggish  life  is  left." 


THE  SEA-WOLF  69 

"  You  have  read  Darwin,"  I  said.  "  But  you  read  him 
misunderstandingly  when  you  conclude  that  the  struggle 
for  existence  sanctions  your  wanton  destruction  of  life." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  You  know  you  only  mean 
that  in  relation  to  human  life,  for  of  the  flesh  and  the  fowl 
and  the  fish  you  destroy  as  much  as  I  or  any  other  man. 
And  human  life  is  in  no  wise  different,  though  you  feel  it 
is  and  think  that  you  reason  why  it  is.  Why  should  I  be 
parsimonious  with  this  life  which  is  cheap  and  without 
value  ?  There  are  more  sailors  than  there  are  ships  on  the 
sea  for  them,  more  workers  than  there  are  factories  or 
machines  for  them.  Why,  you  who  live  on  the  land  know 
that  you  house  your  poor  people  in  the  slums  of  cities  and 
loose  famine  and  pestilence  upon  them,  and  that  there 
still  remain  more  poor  people,  dying  for  want  of  a  crust  of 
bread  and  a  bit  of  meat,  (which  is  life  destroyed),  than  you 
know  what  to  do  with.  Have  you  ever  seen  the  London 
dockers  fighting  like  wild  beasts  for  a  chance  to  work  ?  " 

He  started  for  the  companion  stairs,  but  turned  his  head 
for  a  final  word.  "  Do  you  know  the  only  value  life  has  is 
what  life  puts  upon  itself?  And  it  is  of  course  overestimated, 
since  it  is  of  necessity  prejudiced  in  its  own  favor.  Take 
that  man  I  had  aloft.  He  held  on  as  if  he  were  a  precious 
thing,  a  treasure  beyond  diamonds  or  rubies.  To  you? 
No.  Tome?  Not  at  all.  To  himself?  Yes.  But  I  do  not 
accept  his  estimate.  He  sadly  overrates  himself.  There 
is  plenty  more  life  demanding  to  "be  born.  Had  he  fallen 
and  dripped  his  brains  upon  the  deck  like  honey  from  the 
comb,  there  would  have  been  no  loss  to  the  world.  He 
was  worth  nothing  to  the  world.  The  supply  is  too  large. 
To  himself  only  was  he  of  value,  and  to  show  how  fictitious 
even  this  value  was,  being  dead  he  is  unconscious  that  he 
has  lost  himself.  He  alone  rated  himself  beyond  diamonds 


/O  THE  SEA-WOLF 

and  rubies.  Diamonds  and  rubies  are  gone,  spread  out  on 
the  deck  to  be  washed  away  by  a  bucket  of  sea-water,  and 
he  does  not  even  know  that  the  diamonds  and  rubies  are 
gone.  He  does  not  lose  anything,  for  with  the  loss  of 
himself  he  loses  the  knowledge  of  loss.  Don't  you  see  ? 
And  what  have  you  to  say  ?  " 

"  That  you  are  at  least  consistent,"  was  all  I  could  say, 
and  I  went  on  washing  the  dishes. 


CHAPTER  VII 

AT  last,  after  three  days  of  variable  winds,  we  have 
caught  the  northeast  trades.  I  came  on  deck,  after  a  good 
night's  rest  in  spite  of  my  poor  knee,  to  find  the  Ghost 
foaming  along,  wing-and-wing,  and  every  sail  drawing 
except  the  jibs,  with  a  fresh  breeze  astern.  Oh,  the  won- 
der of  the  great  trade-wind !  All  day  we  sailed,  and  all 
night,  and  the  next  day,  and  the  next,  day  after  day,  the 
wind  always  astern  and  blowing  steadily  and  strong.  The 
schooner  sailed  herself.  There  was  no  pulling  and  hauling 
on  sheets  and  tackles,  no  shifting  of  topsails,  no  work  at 
all  for  the  sailors  to  do  except  to  steer.  At  night  when 
the  sun  went  down,  the  sheets  were  slackened;  in  the 
morning,  when  they  yielded  up  the  damp  of  the  dew  and 
relaxed,  they  were  pulled  tight  again  —  and  that  was  all. 

Ten  knots,  twelve  knots,  eleven  knots,  varying  from  time 
to  time,  is  the  speed  we  are  making.  And  ever  out  of  the 
northeast  the  brave  wind  blows,  driving  us  on  our  course 
two  hundred  and  fifty  miles  between  the  dawns.  It  saddens 
me  and  gladdens  me,  the  gait  with  which  we  are  leaving 
San  Francisco  behind  and  with  which  we  are  foaming 
down  upon  the  tropics.  Each  day  grows  perceptibly 
warmer.  In  the  second  dog-watch  the  sailors  come  on 
deck,  stripped,  and  heave  buckets  of  water  upon  one 
another  from  overside.  Flying-fish  are  beginning  to  be 
seen,  and  during  the  night  the  watch  above  scrambles 
over  the  deck  in  pursuit  of  those  that  fall  aboard.  In  the 
morning,  Thomas  Mugridge  being  duly  bribed,  the  galley 

7* 


72  THE  SEA-WOLF 

is  pleasantly  areek  with  the  odor  of  their  frying;  while 
dolphin  meat  is  served  fore  and  aft  on  such  occasions  as 
Johnson  catches  the  blazing  beauties  from  the  bowsprit  end. 

Johnson  seems  to  spend  all  his  spare  time  there  or  aloft 
at  the  crosstrees,  watching  the  Ghost  cleaving  the  water 
under  press  of  sail.  There  is  passion,  adoration,  in  his 
eyes,  and  he  goes  about  in  a  sort  of  trance,  gazing  in 
ecstasy  at  the  swelling  sails,  the  foaming  wake,  and  the 
heave  and  the  run  of  her  over  the  liquid  mountains  that 
are  moving  with  us  in  stately  procession. 

The  days  and  nights  are  "  alia  wonder  and  a  wild  delight," 
and  though  I  have  little  time  from  my  dreary  work,  I  steal 
odd  moments  to  gaze  and  gaze  at  the  unending  glory  of 
what  I  never  dreamed  the  world  possessed.  Above,  the  sky 
is  stainless  blue  —  blue  as  the  sea  itself,  which  under  the 
forefoot  is  of  the  color  and  sheen  of  azure  satin.  All  around 
the  horizon  are  pale,  fleecy  clouds,  never  changing,  never 
moving,  like  a  silver  setting  for  the  flawless  turquoise  sky. 

I  do  not  forget  one  night,  when  I  should  have  been 
asleep,  of  lying  on  the  forecastle-head  and  gazing  down  at 
the  spectral  ripple  of  foam  thrust  aside  by  the  Ghost's  fore- 
foot. It  sounded  like  the  gurgling  of  a  brook  over  mossy 
stones  in  some  quiet  dell,  and  the  crooning  song  of  it  lured 
me  away  and  out  of  myself  till  I  was  no  longer  Hump  the 
cabin-boy,  nor  Van  Weyden,  the  man  who  had  dreamed 
away  thirty-five  years  among  books.  But  a  voice  behind 
me,  the  unmistakable  voice  of  Wolf  Larsen,  strong  with 
the  invincible  certitude  of  the  man  and  mellow  with  appre- 
ciation of  the  words  he  was  quoting,  aroused  me. 

" '  O  the  blazing  tropic  night,  when  the  wake's  a  welt  of  light 

That  holds  the  hot  sky  tame, 

And  the  steady  forefoot  snores  through  the  planet-powdered  floors 
Where  the  scared  whale  flukes  in  flame. 


THE  SEA-WOLF  73 

Her  plates  are  scarred  by  the  sun,  dear  lass, 

And  her  ropes  are  taut  with  the  dew, 

For  weVe  booming  down  on  the  old  trail,  our  own  trail,  the  out  trail, 

We're  sagging  south  on  the  Long  Trail  —  the  trail  that  is  always  new/  " 

"  Eh,  Hump  ?  How's  it  strike  you  ?  "  he  asked,  after  the 
due  pause  which  words  and  setting  demanded. 

I  looked  into  his  face.  It  was  aglow  with  light,  as  the 
sea  itself,  and  the  eyes  were  flashing  in  the  starshine. 

"  It  strikes  me  as  remarkable,  to  say  the  least,  that  you 
should  show  enthusiasm,"  I  answered  coldly. 

"Why,  man,  it's  living !  it's  life  !  "  he  cried. 

"Which  is  a  cheap  thing  and  without  value,"  I  flung 
his  words  at  him. 

He  laughed,  and  it  was  the  first  time  I  had  heard  honest 
mirth  in  his  voice. 

"Ah,  I  cannot  get  you  to  understand,  cannot  drive  it 
into  your  head,  what  a  thing  this  life  is.  Of  course  life 
is  valueless,  except  to  itself.  And  I  can  tell  you  that  my 
life  is  pretty  valuable  just  now  —  to  myself.  It  is  beyond 
price,  which  you  will  acknowledge  is  a  terrific  overrating, 
but  which  I  cannot  help,  for  it  is  the  life  that  is  in  me  that 
makes  the  rating." 

He  appeared  waiting  for  the  words  with  which  to  ex- 
press the  thought  that  was  in  him,  and  finally  went  on. 

"  Do  you  know,  I  am  filled  with  a  strange  uplift ;  I  feel 
as  if  all  time  were  echoing  through  me,  as  though  all 
powers  were  mine.  I  know  truth,  divine  good  from  evil, 
right  from  wrong.  My  vision  is  clear  and  far.  I  could 
almost  believe  in  God.  But,"  —  and  his  voice  changed  and 
the  light  went  out  of  his  face,  —  "  what  is  this  condition 
in  which  I  find  myself  ?  this  joy  of  living  ?  this  exultation 
of  life  ?  this  inspiration,  I  may  well  call  it  ?  It  is  what 
comes  when  there  is  nothing  wrong  with  one's  digestion, 


74  THE   SEA-WOLF 

when  his  stomach  is  in  trim  and  his  appetite  has  an  edge, 
and  all  goes  well.  It  is  the  bribe  for  living,  the  cham- 
pagne of  the  blood,  the  effervescence  of  the  ferment 
—  that  makes  some  men  think  holy  thoughts,  and  other 
men  to  see  God  or  to  create  him  when  they  cannot  see 
him.  That  is  all,  the  drunkenness  of  life,  the  stirring  and 
crawling  of  the  yeast,  the  babbling  of  the  life  that  is  insane 
with  consciousness  that  it  is  alive.  And — bah !  To-mor- 
row I  shall  pay  for  it  as  the  drunkard  pays.  And  I  shall 
know  that  I  must  die,  at  sea  most  likely,  cease  crawling  of 
myself  to  be  all  acrawl  with  the  corruption  of  the  sea ;  to 
be  fed  upon,  to  be  carrion,  to  yield  up  all  the  strength  and 
movement  of  my  muscles  that  it  may  become  strength  and 
movement  in  fin  and  scale  and  the  guts  of  fishes.  Bah ! 
And  bah !  again.  The  champagne  is  already  flat.  The 
sparkle  and  bubble  has  gone  out  and  it  is  a  tasteless  drink." 
He  left  me  as  suddenly  as  he  had  come,  springing  to  the 
deck  with  the  weight  and  softness  of  a  tiger.  The  Ghost 
ploughed  on  her  way.  I  noted  the  gurgling  forefoot  was 
very  like  a  snore,  and  as  I  listened  to  it  the  effect  of  Wolf 
Larsen's  swift  rush  from  sublime  exultation  to  despair 
slowly  left  me.  Then  some  deep-water  sailor,  from  the 
waist  of  the  ship,  lifted  a  rich  tenor  voice  in  the  "  Song  of 
the  Trade  Wind : " 

"Oh,  I  am  the  wind  the  seamen  love  — 

I  am  steady,  and  strong,  and  true ; 
They  follow  my  track  by  the  clouds  above, 
O'er  the  fathomless  tropic  blue. 

****** 
Through  daylight  and  dark  I  follow  the  bark, 

I  keep  like  a  hound  on  her  trail  ; 
I'm  strongest  at  noon,  yet  under  the  moon, 
I  stiffen  the  bunt  of  her  sail." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

SOMETIMES  I  think  Wolf  Larsen  mad,  or  half-mad  at 
least,  what  of  his  strange  moods  and  vagaries.  At  other 
times  I  take  him  for  a  great  man,  a  genius  who  has  never 
arrived.  And,  finally,  I  am  convinced  that  he  is  the  per- 
fect type  of  the  primitive  man,  born  a  thousand  years  or 
generations  too  late  and  an  anachronism  in  this  culminating 
century  of  civilization.  He  is  certainly  an  individualist  of 
the  most  pronounced  type.  Not  only  that,  but  he  is  very 
lonely.  There  is  no  congeniality  between  him  and  the 
rest  of  the  men  aboard  ship.  His  tremendous  virility  and 
mental  strength  wall  him  apart.  ,  They  are  more  like  chil- 
dren to  him,  even  the  hunters,  and  as  children  he  treats 
them,  descending  perforce  to  their  level  and  playing  with 
them  as  a  man  plays  with  puppies.  Or  else  he  probes  them 
with  the  cruel  hand  of  a  vivisectionist,  groping  about  in 
their  mental  processes  and  examining  their  souls  as  though 
to  see  of  what  soul-stuff  is  made. 

I  have  seen  him  a  score  of  times,  at  table,  insulting  this 
hunter  or  that,  with  cool  and  level  eyes  and,  withal,  a  cer- 
tain air  of  interest,  pondering  their  actions  or  replies  or 
petty  rages  with  a  curiosity  almost  laughable  to  me  who 
stood  onlooker  and  who  understood.  Concerning  his  own 
rages,  I  am  convinced  that  they  are  not  real,  that  they  are 
sometimes  experiments,  but  that  in  the  main  they  are  the 
habits  of  a  pose  or  attitude  he  has  seen  fit  to  take  toward 
his  fellowmen.  I  know,  with  the  possible  exception  of  the 
incident  of  the  dead  mate,  that  I  have  not  seen  him  really 

75 


76  THE  SEA-WOLF 

angry ;  nor  do  I  wish  ever  to  see  him  in  a  genuine  rage, 
when  all  the  force  of  him  is  called  into  play. 

While  on  the  question  of  vagaries,  I  shall  tell  what  befell 
Thomas  Mugridge  in  the  cabin,  and  at  the  same  time  com- 
plete an  incident  upon  which  I  have  already  touched  once 
or  twice.  The  twelve  o'clock  dinner  was  over,  one  day, 
and  I  had  just  finished  putting  the  cabin  in  order, 
when  Wolf  Larsen  and  Thomas  Mugridge  descended 
the  companion  stairs.  Though  the  cook  had  a  cubby- 
hole of  a  stateroom  opening  off  from  the  cabin,  in  the 
cabin  itself  he  had  never  dared  to  linger  or  to  be  seen, 
and  he  flitted  to  and  fro,  once  or  twice  a  day,  like  a  timid 
spectre. 

"  So  you  know  how  to  play  '  Nap,' "  Wolf  Larsen  was 
saying  in  a  pleased  sort  of  voice.  "  I  might  have  guessed 
an  Englishman  would  know.  I  learned  it  myself  in  Eng- 
lish ships." 

Thomas  Mugridge  was  beside  himself,  a  blithering  im- 
becile, so  pleased  was  he  at  chumming  thus  with  the 
captain.  The  little  airs  he  put  on  and  the  painful  striving 
to  assume  the  easy  carriage  of  a  man  born  to  a  dignified 
place  in  life  would  have  been  sickening  had  they  not  been 
ludicrous.  He  quite  ignored  my  presence,  though  I  cred- 
ited him  with  being  simply  unable  to  see  me.  His  pale, 
wishy-washy  eyes  were  swimming  like  lazy  summer  seas, 
though  what  blissful  visions  they  beheld  were  beyond  my 
imagination. 

"  Get  the  cards,  Hump/'  Wolf  Larsen  ordered,  as  they 
took  seats  at  the  table.  "And  bring  out  the  cigars  and 
the  whiskey  you'll  find  in  my  berth." 

I  returned  with  the  articles  in  time  to  hear  the  Cockney 
hinting  broadly  that  there  was  a  mystery  about  him,  that 
he  might  be  a  gentleman's  son  gone  wrong  or  something 


THE  SEA-WOLF  77 

or  other ;  also,  that  he  was  a  remittance  man  and  was  paid 
to  keep  away  from  England  —  "p'yed  'ansomely,  sir,"  was 
the  way  he  put  it ;  "  p'yed  'ansomely  to  sling  my  'ook  an* 
keep  slingin'  it." 

I  had  brought  the  customary  liquor  glasses,  but  Wolf 
Larsen  frowned,  shook  his  head,  and  signalled  with  his 
hands  for  me  to  bring  the  tumblers.  These  he  filled  two- 
thirds  full  with  undiluted  whiskey  —  "a  gentleman's  drink," 
quoth  Thomas  Mugridge,  —  and  they  clinked  their  glasses 
to  the  glorious  game  of  "  Nap,"  lighted  cigars,  and  fell  to 
shuffling  and  dealing  the  cards. 

They  played  for  money.  They  increased  the  amounts 
of  the  bets.  They  drank  whiskey,  they  drank  it  neat,  and 
I  fetched  more.  I  do  not  know  whether  Wolf  Larsen 
cheated  or  not,  —  a  thing  he  was  thoroughly  capable  of 
doing,  —  but  he  won  steadily.  The  cook  made  repeated 
journeys  to  his  bunk  for  money.  Each  time  he  performed 
the  journey  with  greater  swagger,  but  he  never  brought 
more  than  a  few  dollars  at  a  time.  He  grew  maudlin, 
familiar,  could  hardly  see  the  cards  or  sit  upright.  As  a 
preliminary  to  another  journey  to  his  bunk,  he  hooked 
Wolf  Larsen' s  buttonhole  with  a  greasy  forefinger  and 
vacuously  proclaimed  and  reiterated,  "  I  got  money.  I 
got  money,  I  tell  yer,  an'  I'm  a  gentleman's  son." 

Wolf  Larsen  was  unaffected  by  the  drink,  yet  he  drank 
glass  for  glass,  and  if  anything  his  glasses  were  fuller. 
There  was  no  change  in  him.  He  did  not  appear  even 
amused  at  the  other's  antics. 

In  the  end,  with  loud  protestations  that  he  could  lose 
like  a  gentleman,  the  cook's  last  money  was  staked  on  the 
game  and  lost.  Whereupon  he  leaned  his  head  on  his 
hands  and  wept.  Wolf  Larsen  looked  curiously  at  him, 
as  though  about  to  probe  and  vivisect  him,  then  changed 


78  THE  SEA-WOLF 

his  mind,  as  from  the  foregone  conclusion  that  there  was 
nothing  there  to  probe. 

"  Hump,"  he  said  to  me,  elaborately  polite,  "  kindly  take 
Mr.  Mugridge's  arm  and  help  him  up  on  deck.  He  is  not 
feeling  very  well," 

"  And  tell  Johnson  to  douse  him  with  a  few  buckets  of 
salt  water,"  he  added,  in  a  lower  tone  for  my  ear  alone. 

I  left  Mr.  Mugridge  on  deck,  in  the  hands  of  a  couple 
of  grinning  sailors  who  had  been  told  off  for  the  purpose. 
Mr.  Mugridge  was  sleepily  spluttering  that  he  was  a 
gentleman's  son.  But  as  I  descended  the  companion 
stairs  to  clear  the  table  I  heard  him  shriek  as  the  first 
bucket  of  water  struck  him. 

Wolf  Larsen  was  counting  his  winnings. 

"  One  hundred  and  eighty-five  dollars  even,"  he  said 
aloud.  "Just  as  I  thought.  The  beggar  came  aboard 
without  a  cent." 

"  And  what  you  have  won  is  mine,  sir,"  I  said  boldly. 

He  favored  me  with  a  quizzical  smile.  "  Hump,  I  have 
studied  some  grammar  in  my  time,  and  I  think  your  tenses 
are  tangled.  'Was  mine,'  you  should  have  said,  not  'is 
mine.'  " 

"  It  is  a  question,  not  of  grammar,  but  of  ethics,"  I 
answered. 

It  was  possibly  a  minute  before  he  spoke. 

"  D'ye  know,  Hump,"  he  said,  with  a  slow  seriousness 
which  had  in  it  an  indefinable  strain  of  sadness,  "that 
this  is  the  first  time  I  have  heard  the  word  '  ethics '  in  the 
mouth  of  a  man.  You  and  I  are  the  only  men  on  this 
ship  who  know  its  meaning." 

"  At  one  time  in  my  life,"  he  continued,  after  another 
pause,  "  I  dreamed  that  I  might  some  day  talk  with  men 
who  used  such  language,  that  I  might  lift  myself  out  of 


THE  SEA-WOLF  79 

the  place  in  life  in  which  I  had  been  born,  and  hold  con- 
versation and  mingle  with  men  who  talked  about  just 
such  things  as  ethics.  And  this  is  the  first  time  I  have 
ever  heard  the  word  pronounced.  Which  is  all  by  the 
way,  for  you  are  wrong.  It  is  a  question,  neither  of 
grammar  nor  ethics,  but  of  fact." 

"  I  understand,"  I  said.  "The  fact  is  that  you  have  the 
money." 

His  face  brightened.  He  seemed  pleased  at  my 
perspicacity. 

"  But  it  is  avoiding  the  real  question,"  I  continued, 
"which  is  one  of  right." 

"  Ah,"  he  remarked,  with  a  wry  pucker  of  his  mouth, 
"  I  see  you  still  believe  in  such  things  as  right  and  wrong." 

"  But  don't  you  ?  —  at  all  ?  "  I  demanded. 

"  Not  the  least  bit.  Might  is  right,  and  that  is  all  there 
is  to  it.  Weakness  is  wrong.  Which  is  a  very  poor  way 
of  saying  that  it  is  good  for  oneself  to  be  strong,  and  evil 
for  oneself  to  be  weak  —  or  better  yet,  it  is  pleasurable  to 
be  strong,  because  of  the  profits ;  painful  to  be  weak,  be- 
cause of  the  penalties.  Just  now  the  possession  of  this 
money  is  a  pleasurable  thing.  It  is  good  for  one  to 
possess  it.  Being  able  to  possess  it,  I  wrong  myself  and 
the  life  that  is  in  me  if  I  give  it  to  you  and  forego  the 
pleasure  of  possessing  it." 

"  But  you  wrong  me  by  withholding  it,"  I  objected. 

"  Not  at  all.  One  man  cannot  wrong  another  man.  He 
can  only  wrong  himself.  As  I  see  it,  I  do  wrong  always 
when  I  consider  the  interests  of  others.  Don't  you  see  ? 
How  can  two  particles  of  the  yeast  wrong  each  other  by 
striving  to  devour  each  other  ?  It  is  their  inborn  heritage 
to  strive  to  devour,  and  to  strive  not  to  be  devoured. 
When  they  depart  from  this  they  sin." 


80  THE  SEA-WOLF 

"  Then  you  don't  believe  in  altruism  ?  "  I  asked. 

He  received  the  word  as  if  it  had  a  familiar  ring,  though 
he  pondered  it  thoughtfully.  "  Let  me  see,  it  means  some- 
thing about  cooperation,  doesn't  it  ? " 

"  Well,  in  a  way  there  has  come  to  be  a  sort  of  connec- 
tion," I  answered,  unsurprised  by  this  time  at  such  gaps  in 
his  vocabulary,  which,  like  his  knowledge,  was  the  acquire- 
ment of  a  self-read,  self-educated  man,  whom  no  one  had 
directed  in  his  studies,  and  who  had  thought  much  and 
talked  little  or  not  at  all.  "An  altruistic  act  is  an  act 
performed  for  the  welfare  of  others.  It  is  unselfish,  as 
opposed  to  an  act  performed  for  self,  which  is  selfish." 

He  nodded  his  head.  "Oh,  yes,  I  remember  it  now. 
I  ran  across  it  in  Spencer." 

"  Spencer !  "  I  cried.     "  Have  you  read  him  ? " 

"  Not  very  much,"  was  his  confession.  "  I  understood 
quite  a  good  deal  of  'First  Principles,'  but  his  'Biology* 
took  the  wind  out  of  my  sails,  and  his  '  Psychology '  left 
me  butting  around  in  the  doldrums  for  many  a  day.  I 
honestly  could  not  understand  what  he  was  driving  at. 
I  put  it  down  to  mental  deficiency  on  my  part,  but  since 
then  I  have  decided  that  it  was  for  want  of  preparation. 
I  had  no  proper  basis.  Only  Spencer  and  myself  know 
how  hard  I  hammered.  But  I  did  get  something  out  of 
his  '  Data  of  Ethics.'  There's  where  I  ran  across  '  altru- 
ism,' and  I  remember  now  how  it  was  used." 

I  wondered  what  this  man  could  have  got  from  such  a 
work.  Spencer  I  remembered  enough  to  know  that  altru- 
ism was  imperative  to  his  ideal  of  highest  conduct.  Wolf 
Larsen,  evidently,  had  sifted  the  great  philosopher's  teach- 
ings, rejecting  and  selecting  according  to  his  needs  and 
desires. 

"  What  else  did  you  run  across  ? "  I  asked. 


THE  SEA-WOLF  8 1 

His  brows  drew  in  slightly  with  the  mental  effort  of 
suitably  phrasing  thoughts  which  he  had  never  before  put 
into  speech.  I  felt  an  elation  of  spirit.  I  was  groping 
into  his  soul-stuff  as  he  made  a  practice  of  groping  in  the 
soul-stuff  of  others.  I  was  exploring  virgin  territory.  A 
strange,  a  terribly  strange,  region  was  unrolling  itself  before 
my  eyes. 

"  In  as  few  words  as  possible,"  he  began,  "  Spencer  puts 
it  something  like  this  :  First,  a  man  must  act  for  his  own 
benefit  —  to  do  this  is  to  be  moral  and  good.  Next,  he  must 
act  for  the  benefit  of  his  children.  And  third,  he  must  act 
for  the  benefit  of  his  race." 

"And  the  highest,  finest,  right  conduct,"  I  interjected, 
"  is  that  act  which  benefits  at  the  same  time  the  man,  his 
children,  and  his  race." 

"  I  wouldn't  stand  for  that,"  he  replied.  "  Couldn't  see 
the  necessity  for  it,  nor  the  common  sense.  I  cut  out  the 
race  and  the  children.  I  would  sacrifice  nothing  for  them. 
It's  just  so  much  slush  and  sentiment,  and  you  must  see  it 
yourself,  at  least  for  one  who  does  not  believe  in  eternal 
life.  With  immortality  before  me,  altruism  would  be  a 
paying  business  proposition.  I  might  elevate  my  soul  to 
all  kinds  of  altitudes.  But  with  nothing  eternal  before  me 
but  death,  given  for  a  brief  spell  this  yeasty  crawling  and 
squirming  which  is  called  life,  why,  it  would  be  immoral 
for  me  to  perform  any  act  that  was  a  sacrifice.  Any  sacri- 
fice that  makes  me  lose  one  crawl  or  squirm  is  foolish,  — 
and  not  only  foolish,  for  it  is  a  wrong  against  myself  and 
a  wicked  thing.  I  must  not  lose  one  crawl  or  squirm  if  I 
am  to  get  the  most  out  of  the  ferment.  Nor  will  the  eter- 
nal movelessness  that  is  coming  to  me  be  made  easier  or 
harder  by  the  sacrifices  or  selfishnesses  of  the  time  when  I 
was  yeasty  and  acrawl." 

G 


82  THE  SEA-WOLF 

"  Then  you  are  an  individualist,  a  materialist,  and,  logi- 
cally, a  hedonist." 

"  Big  words,"  he  smiled.     "  But  what  is  a  hedonist  ?  " 

He  nodded  agreement  when  I  had  given  the  definition. 

"  And  you  are  also,"  I  continued,  "  a  man  one  could  not 
trust  in  the  least  thing  where  it  was  possible  for  a  selfish 
interest  to  intervene  ?  " 

"  Now  you're  beginning  to  understand,"  he  said,  bright- 
ening. 

"You  are  a  man  utterly  without  what  the  world  calls 
morals  ? " 

"That's  it." 

"A  man  of  whom  to  be  always  afraid  —  " 

"That's  the  way  to  put  it." 

"  As  one  is  afraid  of  a  snake,  or  a  tiger,  or  a  shark  ? " 

"  Now  you  know  me,"  he  said.  "  And  you  know  me  as 
I  am  generally  known.  Other  men  call  me  'Wolf.' " 

"You  are  a  sort  of  monster,"  I  added  audaciously,  "a 
Caliban  who  has  pondered  Setebos,  and  who  acts  as  you 
act,  in  idle  moments,  by  whim  and  fancy." 

His  brow  clouded  at  the  allusion.  He  did  not  under- 
stand, and  I  quickly  learned  that  he  did  not  know  the 
poem. 

"  I'm  just  reading  Browning,"  he  confessed,  "  and  it's 
pretty  tough.  I  haven't  got  very  far  along,  and  as  it  is 
I've  about  lost  my  bearings." 

Not  to  be  tiresome,  I  shall  say  that  I  fetched  the  book 
from  his  state-room  and  read  "  Caliban  "  aloud.  He  was 
delighted.  It  was  a  primitive  mode  of  reasoning  and  of 
looking  at  things  that  he  understood  thoroughly.  He 
interrupted  again  and  again  with  comment  and  criticism. 
When  I  finished,  he  had  me  read  it  over  a  second  time, 
and  a  third.  We  fell  into  discussion  —  philosophy,  science, 


THE  SEA-WOLF  83 

evolution,  religion.  He  betrayed  the  inaccuracies  of  the 
self-read  man,  and,  it  must  be  granted,  the  sureness  and 
directness  of  the  primitive  mind.  The  very  simplicity  of 
his  reasoning  was  its  strength,  and  his  materialism  was  far 
more  compelling  than  the  subtly  complex  materialism  of 
Charley  Furuseth.  Not  that  I,  —  a  confirmed  and,  as 
Furuseth  phrased  it,  a  temperamental  idealist,  —  was  to 
be  compelled ;  but  that  Wolf  Larsen  stormed  the  last 
strongholds  of  my  faith  with  a  vigor  that  received  respect, 
while  not  accorded  conviction. 

Time  passed.  Supper  was  at  hand  and  the  table  not 
laid.  I  became  restless  and  anxious,  and  when  Thomas 
Mugridge  glared  down  the  companionway,  sick  and  angry 
of  countenance,  I  prepared  to  go  about  my  duties.  But 
Wolf  Larsen  cried  out  to  him  :  — 

"Cooky,  you've  got  to  hustle  to-night.  I'm  busy  with 
Hump,  and  you'll  do  the  best  you  can  without  him." 

And  again  the  unprecedented  was  established.  That 
night  I  sat  at  table  with  the  captain  and  the  hunters, 
while  Thomas  Mugridge  waited  on  us  and  washed  the 
dishes  afterward  —  a  whim,  a  Caliban-mood  of  Wolf  Lar- 
sen's,  and  one  I  foresaw  would  bring  me  trouble.  In  the 
meantime  we  talked  and  talked,  much  to  the  disgust  of 
the  hunters,  who  could  not  understand  a  word. 


CHAPTER   IX 

THREE  days  of  rest,  three  blessed  days  of  rest,  are  what 
I  had  with  Wolf  Larsen,  eating  at  the  cabin  table  and  doing 
nothing  but  discuss  life,  literature,  and  the  universe,  the 
while  Thomas  Mugridge  fumed  and  raged  and  did  my 
work  as  well  as  his  own. 

"  Watch  out  for  squalls,  is  all  I  can  say  to  you,"  was 
Louis's  warning,  given  during  a  spare  half-hour  on  deck 
while  Wolf  Larsen  was  engaged  in  straightening  out  a 
row  among  the  hunters. 

"  Ye  can't  tell  what'll  be  happenin',"  Louis  went  on,  in 
response  to  my  query  for  more  definite  information.  "  The 
man's  as  contrary  as  air  currents  or  water  currents.  You 
can  never  guess  the  ways  iv  him.  'Tis  just  as  you're 
thinkin'  you  know  him  and  are  makin'  a  favorable  slant 
along  him,  that  he  whirls  around,  dead  ahead,  and  comes 
howlin'  down  upon  you  and  a-rippin'  all  iv  your  fine- 
weather  sails  to  rags." 

So  I  was  not  altogether  surprised  when  the  squall  fore- 
told by  Louis  smote  me.  We  had  been  having  a  heated 
discussion,  —  upon  life,  of  course,  —  and,  grown  overbold, 
I  was  passing  stiff  strictures  upon  Wolf  Larsen  and  the 
life  of  Wolf  Larsen.  In  fact,  I  was  vivisecting  him  and 
turning  over  his  soul-stuff  as  keenly  and  thoroughly  as  it 
was  his  custom  to  do  it  to  others.  It  may  be  a  weakness 
of  mine  that  I  have  an  incisive  way  of  speech ;  but  I 
threw  all  restraint  to  the  winds  and  cut  and  slashed  until 
the  whole  man  of  him  was  snarling.  The  dark  sun-bronze 

84 


THE  SEA-WOLF  85 

of  his  face  went  black  with  wrath,  his  eyes  were  ablaze. 
There  was  no  clearness  or  sanity  in  them  —  nothing  but 
the  terrific  rage  of  a  madman.  It  was  the  wolf  in  him 
that  I  saw,  and  a  mad  wolf  at  that. 

He  sprang  for  me  with  a  half-roar,  gripping  my  arm. 
I  had  steeled  myself  to  brazen  it  out,  though  I  was  trem- 
bling inwardly ;  but  the  enormous  strength  of  the  man  was 
too  much  for  my  fortitude.  He  had  gripped  me  by  the 
biceps  with  his  single  hand,  and  when  that  grip  tightened 
I  wilted  and  shrieked  aloud.  My  feet  went  out  from 
under  me.  I  simply  could  not  stand  upright  and  endure 
the  agony.  The  muscles  refused  their  duty.  The  pain 
was  too  great.  My  biceps  was  being  crushed  to  a  pulp. 

He  seemed  to  recover  himself,  for  a  lucid  gleam  came 
into  his  eyes,  and  he  relaxed  his  hold  with  a  short  laugh 
that  was  more  like  a  growl.  I  fell  to  the  floor,  feeling 
very  faint,  while  he  sat  down,  lighted  a  cigar,  and  watched 
me  as  a  cat  watches  a  mouse.  As  I  writhed  about  I  could 
see  in  his  eyes  that  curiosity  I  had  so  often  noted,  that 
wonder  and  perplexity,  that  questing,  that  everlasting  query 
of  his  as  to  what  it  was  all  about. 

I  finally  crawled  to  my  feet  and  ascended  the  compan- 
ion stairs.  Fair  weather  was  over,  and  there  was  nothing 
left  but  to  return  to  the  galley.  My  left  arm  was  numb, 
as  though  paralyzed,  and  days  passed  before  I  could  use 
it,  while  weeks  went  by  before  the  last  stiffness  and  pain 
went  out  of  it.  And  he  had  done  nothing  but  put  his 
hand  upon  my  arm  and  squeeze.  There  had  been  no 
wrenching  or  jerking.  He  had  just  closed  his  hand  with 
a  steady  pressure.  What  he  might  have  done  I  did  not 
fully  realize  till  next  day,  when  he  put  his  head  into  the 
galley,  and,  as  a  sign  of  renewed  friendliness,  asked  me 
how  my  arm  was  getting  on. 


86  THE   SEA-WOLF 

"  It  might  have  been  worse,"  he  smiled. 

I  was  peeling  potatoes.  He  picked  one  up  from  the 
pan.  It  was  fair-sized,  firm,  and  unpeeled.  He  closed  his 
hand  upon  it,  squeezed,  and  the  potato  squirted  out  be- 
tween his  fingers  in  mushy  streams.  The  pulpy  rem- 
nant he  dropped  back  into  the  pan  and  turned  away,  and 
I  had  a  sharp  vision  of  how  it  might  have  fared  with  me 
had  the  monster  put  his  real  strength  upon  me. 

But  the  three  days'  rest  was  good  in  spite  of  it  all,  for  it 
had  given  my  knee  the  very  chance  it  needed.  It  felt  much 
better,  the  swelling  had  materially  decreased,  and  the  cap 
seemed  descending  into  its  proper  place.  Also,  the  three 
days'  rest  brought  the  trouble  I  had  foreseen.  It  was 
plainly  Thomas  Mugridge's  intention  to  make  me  pay  for 
those  three  days.  He  treated  me  vilely,  cursed  me  con- 
tinually, and  heaped  his  own  work  upon  me.  He  even 
ventured  to  raise  his  fist  to  me,  but  I  was  becoming  ani- 
mal-like myself,  and  I  snarled  in  his  face  so  terribly  that 
it  must  have  frightened  him  back.  It  is  no  pleasant  pic- 
ture I  can  conjure  up  of  myself,  Humphrey  Van  Weyden,  in 
that  noisome  ship's  galley,  crouched  in  a  corner  over  my 
task,  my  face  raised  to  the  face  of  the  creature  about  to 
strike  me,  my  lips  lifted  and  snarling  like  a  dog's,  my  eyes 
gleaming  with  fear  and  helplessness  and  the  courage  that 
comes  of  fear  and  helplessness.  I  do  not  like  the  picture. 
It  reminds  me  too  strongly  of  a  rat  in  a  trap.  I  do  not 
care  to  think  of  it ;  but  it  was  effective,  for  the  threatened 
blow  did  not  descend. 

Thomas  Mugridge  backed  away,  glaring  as  hatefully 
and  viciously  as  I  glared.  A  pair  of  beasts  is  what  we 
were,  penned  together  and  showing  our  teeth.  He  was  a 
coward,  afraid  to  strike  me  because  I  had  not  quailed 
sufficiently  in  advance ;  so  he  chose  a  new  way  to  intimi- 


THE  SEA-WOLF  8/ 

date  me.  There  was  only  one  galley  knife  that,  as  a  knife, 
amounted  to  anything.  This,  through  many  years  of  ser- 
vice and  wear,  had  acquired  a  long,  lean  blade.  It  was 
unusually  cruel-looking,  and  at  first  I  had  shuddered  every 
time  I  used  it.  The  cook  borrowed  a  stone  from  Johansen 
and  proceeded  to  sharpen  the  knife.  He  did  it  with  great 
ostentation,  glancing  significantly  at  me  the  while.  He 
whetted  it  up  and  down  all  day  long.  Every  odd  moment 
he  could  find  he  had  the  knife  and  stone  out  and  was 
whetting  away.  The  steel  acquired  a  razor  edge.  He 
tried  it  with  the  ball  of  his  thumb  or  across  the  nail.  He 
shaved  hairs  from  the  back  of  his  hand,  glanced  along  the 
edge  with  microscopic  acuteness,  and  found,  or  feigned 
that  he  found,  always,  a  slight  inequality  in  its  edge  some- 
where. Then  he  would  put  it  on  the  stone  again  and  whet, 
whet,  whet,  till  I  could  have  laughed  aloud,  it  was  so  very 
ludicrous. 

It  was  also  serious,  for  I  learned  that  he  was  capable  of 
using  it,  that  under  all  his  cowardice  there  was  a  courage 
of  cowardice,  like  mine,  that  would  impel  him  to  do  the 
very  thing  his  whole  nature  protested  against  doing  and 
was  afraid  of  doing.  "  Cooky's  sharpening  his  knife  for 
Hump,"  was  being  whispered  about  among  the  sailors,  and 
some  of  them  twitted  him  about  it.  This  he  took  in  good 
part,  and  was  really  pleased,  nodding  his  head  with  direful 
foreknowledge  and  mystery,  until  George  Leach,  the  erst- 
while cabin-boy,  ventured  some  rough  pleasantry  on  the 
subject. 

Now  it  happened  that  Leach  was  one  of  the  sailors  told 
off  to  douse  Mugridge  after  his  game  of  cards  with  the 
captain.  Leach  had  evidently  done  his  task  with  a  thor- 
oughness that  Mugridge  had  not  forgiven,  for  words 
followed  and  evil  names  involving  smirched  ancestries. 


88  THE  SEA-WOLF 

Mugridge  menaced  with  the  knife  he  was  sharpening  for 
me.  Leach  laughed  and  hurled  more  of  his  Telegraph 
Hill  billingsgate,  and  before  either  he  or  I  knew  what  had 
happened,  his  right  arm  had  been  ripped  open  from  elbow 
to  wrist  by  a  quick  slash  of  the  knife.  The  cook  backed 
away,  a  fiendish  expression  on  his  face,  the  knife  held 
before  him  in  a  position  of  defence.  But  Leach  took  it 
quite  calmly,  though  blood  was  spouting  upon  the  deck  as 
generously  as  water  from  a  fountain. 

"  I'm  goin'  to  get  you,  Cooky,"  he  said,  "  and  I'll  get 
you  hard.  And  I  won't  be  in  no  hurry  about  it.  You'll 
be  without  that  knife  when  I  come  for  you." 

So  saying,  he  turned  and  walked  quietly  forward.  Mug- 
ridge's  face  was  livid  with  fear  at  what  he  had  done  and 
at  what  he  might  expect  sooner  or  later  from  the  man  he 
had  stabbed.  But  his  demeanor  toward  me  was  more  fero- 
cious than  ever.  In  spite  of  his  fear  at  the  reckoning  he 
must  expect  to  pay  for  what  he  had  done,  he  could  see 
that  it  had  been  an  object-lesson  to  me,  and  he  became 
more  domineering  and  exultant.  Also  there  was  a  lust  in 
him,  akin  to  madness,  which  had  come  with  sight  of  the 
blood  he  had  drawn.  He  was  beginning  to  see  red  in 
whatever  direction  he  looked.  The  psychology  of  it  is 
sadly  tangled,  and  yet  I  could  read  the  workings  of  his 
mind  as  clearly  as  though  it  were  a  printed  book. 

Several  days  went  by,  the  Ghost  still  foaming  down  the 
trades,  and  I  could  swear  I  saw  madness  growing  in 
Thomas  Mugridge's  eyes.  And  I  confess  that  I  became 
afraid,  very  much  afraid.  Whet,  whet,  whet,  it  went  all 
day  long.  The  look  in  his  eyes  as  he  felt  the  keen  edge 
and  glared  at  me  was  positively  carnivorous.  I  was  afraid 
to  turn  my  shoulder  to  him,  and  when  I  left  the  galley  I 
went  out  backwards  —  to  the  amusement  of  the  sailors 


THE  SEA-WOLF  89 

and  hunters,  who  made  a  point  of  gathering  in  groups  to 
witness  my  exit.  The  strain  was  too  great.  I  sometimes 
thought  my  mind  would  give  way  under  it  —  a  meet  thing 
on  this  ship  of  madmen  and  brutes.  Every  hour,  every 
minute  of  my  existence  was  in  jeopardy.  I  was  a  human 
soul  in  distress,  and  yet  no  soul,  fore  or  aft,  betrayed  suffi- 
cient sympathy  to  come  to  my  aid.  At  times  I  thought  of 
throwing  myself  on  the  mercy  of  Wolf  Larsen,  but  the 
vision  of  the  mocking  devil  in  his  eyes  that  questioned  life 
and  sneered  at  it  would  come  strong  upon  me  and  compel 
me  to  refrain.  At  other  times  I  seriously  contemplated 
suicide,  and  the  whole  force  of  my  hopeful  philosophy  was 
required  to  keep  me  from  going  over  the  side  in  the  dark- 
ness of  night. 

Several  times  Wolf  Larsen  tried  to  inveigle  me  into  dis- 
cussion, but  I  gave  him  short  answers  and  eluded  him. 
Finally,  he  commanded  me  to  resume  my  seat  at  the  cabin 
table  for  a  time  and  let  the  cook  do  my  work.  Then  I 
spoke  frankly,  telling  him  what  I  was  enduring  from 
Thomas  Mugridge  because  of  the  three  days  of  favoritism 
which  had  been  shown  me.  Wolf  Larsen  regarded  me 
with  smiling  eyes. 

"  So  you're  afraid,  eh  ?  "  he  sneered. 

"  Yes,"  I  said  defiantly  and  honestly,  "  I  am  afraid." 

"  That's  the  way  with  you  fellows,"  he  cried,  half  an- 
grily, "  sentimentalizing  about  your  immortal  souls  and 
afraid  to  die.  At  sight  of  a  sharp  knife  and  a  cowardly 
Cockney  the  clinging  of  life  to  life  overcomes  all  your  fond 
foolishness.  Why,  my  dear  fellow,  you  will  live  forever. 
You  are  a  god,  and  God  cannot  be  killed.  Cooky  cannot 
hurt  you.  You  are  sure  of  your  resurrection.  What's 
there  to  be  afraid  of  ? 

"  You  have  eternal  life  before  you.     You  are  a  million- 


90  THE  SEA-WOLF 

naire  in  immortality,  and  a  millionnaire  whose  fortune  can- 
not be  lost,  whose  fortune  is  less  perishable  than  the  stars 
and  as  lasting  as  space  or  time.  It  is  impossible  for  you  to 
diminish  your  principal.  Immortality  is  a  thing  without 
beginning  or  end.  Eternity  is  eternity,  and  though  you 
die  here  and  now  you  will  go  on  living  somewhere  else  and 
hereafter.  And  it  is  all  very  beautiful,  this  shaking  off  of 
the  flesh  and  soaring  of  the  imprisoned  spirit.  Cooky 
cannot  hurt  you.  He  can  only  give  you  a  boost  on  the 
path  you  eternally  must  tread. 

"  Or,  if  you  do  not  wish  to  be  boosted  just  yet,  why  not 
boost  Cooky  ?  According  to  your  ideas,  he,  too,  must  be 
an  immortal  millionnaire.  You  cannot  bankrupt  him.  His 
paper  will  always  circulate  at  par.  You  cannot  diminish 
the  length  of  his  living  by  killing  him,  for  he  is  without 
beginning  or  end.  He's  bound  to  go  on  living,  some- 
where, somehow.  Then  boost  him.  Stick  a  knife  in  him 
and  let  his  spirit  free.  As  it  is,  it's  in  a  nasty  prison,  and 
you'll  do  him  only  a  kindness  by  breaking  down  the  door. 
And  who  knows  ?  —  it  may  be  a  very  beautiful  spirit  that 
will  go  soaring  up  into  the  blue  from  that  ugly  carcass. 
Boost  him  along,  and  I'll  promote  you  to  his  place,  and 
he's  getting  forty-five  dollars  a  month." 

It  was  plain  that  I  could  look  for  no  help  or  mercy  from 
Wolf  Larsen.  Whatever  was  to  be  done  I  must  do  for 
myself ;  and  out  of  the  courage  of  fear  I  evolved  the  plan 
of  fighting  Thomas  Mugridge  with  his  own  weapons.  I 
borrowed  a  whetstone  from  Johansen.  Louis,  the  boat- 
steerer,  had  already  begged  me  for  condensed  milk  and 
sugar.  The  lazarette,  where  such  delicacies  were  stored, 
was  situated  beneath  the  cabin  floor.  Watching  my  chance, 
I  stole  five  cans  of  the  milk,  and  that  night,  when  it  was 
Louis's  watch  on  deck,  I  traded  them  with  him  for  a  dirk 


THE   SEA-WOLF  91 

as  lean  and  cruel-looking  as  Thomas  Mugridge's  vegetable 
knife.  It  was  rusty  and  dull,  but  I  turned  the  grindstone 
while  Louis  gave  it  an  edge.  I  slept  more  soundly  than 
usual  that  night. 

Next  morning,  after  breakfast,  Thomas  Mugridge  began 
his  whet,  whet,  whet.  I  glanced  warily  at  him,  for  I  was 
on  my  knees  taking  the  ashes  from  the  stove.  When  I 
returned  from  throwing  them  overside,  he  was  talking  to 
Harrison,  whose  honest  yokel's  face  was  filled  with  fas- 
cination and  wonder. 

"  Yes,"  Mugridge  was  saying,  "  an'  wot  does  'is  worship 
do  but  give  me  two  years  in  Reading.  But  blimey  if  I 
cared.  The  other  mug  was  fixed  plenty.  Should  'a  seen 
'im.  Knife  just  like  this.  I  stuck  it  in,  like  into  soft 
butter,  an'  the  w'y  'e  squealed  was  better'n  a  tu-penny 
gaff."  He  shot  a  glance  in  my  direction  to  see  if  I  was 
taking  it  in,  and  went  on.  " '  I  didn't  mean  it,  Tommy,' 
'e  was  snifHin' ;  '  so  'elp  me  Gawd,  I  didn't  mean  it ! ' 
Til  fix  yer  bloody  well  right,'  I  sez,  an'  kept  right  after 
'im.  I  cut  'im  in  ribbons,  that's  wot  I  did,  an'  'e  a-squealin' 
all  the  time.  Once  'e  got  'is  'and  on  the  knife  an'  tried  to 
'old  it.  'Ad  'is  fingers  around  it,  but  I  pulled  it  through, 
cuttin'  to  the  bone.  O,  'e  was  a  sight,  I  can  tell  yer." 

A  call  from  the  mate  interrupted  the  gory  narrative, 
and  Harrison  went  aft.  Mugridge  sat  down  on  the  raised 
threshold  to  the  galley  and  went  on  with  his  knife-sharp- 
ening. I  put  the  shovel  away  and  calmly  sat  down  on  the 
coal-box  facing  him.  He  favored  me  with  a  vicious  stare. 
Still  calmly,  though  my  heart  was  going  pitapat,  I  pulled 
out  Louis's  dirk  and  began  to  whet  it  on  the  stone.  I  had 
looked  for  almost  any  sort  of  explosion  on  the  Cockney's 
part,  but  to  my  surprise  he  did  not  appear  aware  of  what 
I  was  doing.  He  went  on  whetting  his  knife.  So  did  I. 


92  THE  SEA- WOLF 

And  for  two  hours  we  sat  there,  face  to  face,  whet,  whet, 
whet,  till  the  news  of  it  spread  abroad  and  half  the 
ship's  company  was  crowding  the  galley  doors  to  see  the 
sight. 

Encouragement  and  advice  were  freely  tendered,  and 
Jock  Horner,  the  quiet,  self-spoken  hunter  who  looked  as 
though  he  would  not  harm  a  mouse,  advised  me  to  leave 
the  ribs  alone  and  to  thrust  upward  for  the  abdomen,  at 
the  same  time  giving  what  he  called  the  "  Spanish  twist " 
to  the  blade.  Leach,  his  bandaged  arm  prominently  to 
the  fore,  begged  me  to  leave  a  few  remnants  of  the  cook 
for  him;  and  Wolf  Larsen  paused  once  or  twice  at  the 
break  of  the  poop  to  glance  curiously  at  what  must  have 
been  to  him  a  stirring  and  crawling  of  the  yeasty  thing  he 
knew  as  life. 

And  I  make  free  to  say  that  for  the  time  being  life 
assumed  the  same  sordid  values  to  me.  There  was  noth- 
ing pretty  about  it,  nothing  divine  —  only  two  cowardly 
moving  things  that  sat  whetting  steel  upon  stone,  and  a 
group  of  other  moving  things,  cowardly  and  otherwise, 
that  looked  on.  Half  of  them,  I  am  sure,  were  anxious 
to  see  us  shedding  each  other's  blood.  It  would  have 
been  entertainment.  And  I  do  not  think  there  was  one 
who  would  have  interfered  had  we  closed  in  a  death- 
struggle. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  whole  thing  was  laughable  and 
childish.  Whet,  whet,  whet,  —  Humphrey  Van  Weyden 
sharpening  his  knife  in  a  ship's  galley  and  trying  its  edge 
with  his  thumb  I  Of  all  situations  this  was  the  most  incon- 
ceivable. I  know  that  my  own  kind  could  not  have  be- 
lieved it  possible.  I  had  not  been  called  "Sissy"  Van 
Weyden  all  my  days  without  reason,  and  that  "  Sissy " 
Van  Weyden  should  be  capable  of  doing  this  thing  was  a 


THE  SEA-WOLF  93 

revelation  to  Humphrey  Van  Weyden,  who  knew  not 
whether  to  be  exultant  or  ashamed. 

But  nothing  happened.  At  the  end  of  two  hours 
Thomas  Mugridge  put  away  knife  and  stone  and  held  out 
his  hand. 

"  Wot's  the  good  of  mykin'  a  'oly  show  of  ourselves  for 
them  mugs  ?  "  he  demanded.  "  They  don't  love  us,  an' 
bloody  well  glad  they'd  be  a-seein'  us  cuttin'  our  throats. 
Yer  not  'arf  bad,  'Ump !  You've  got  spunk,  as  you  Yanks 
s'y,  an'  I  like  yer  in  a  w'y.  So  come  on  an'  shyke." 

Coward  that  I  might  be,  I  was  less  a  coward  than  he. 
It  was  a  distinct  victory  I  had  gained,  and  I  refused  to 
forego  any  of  it  by  shaking  his  detestable  hand. 

"All  right,"  he  said  pridelessly,  "tyke  it  or  leave  it, 
I'll  like  yer  none  the  less  for  it."  And  to  save  his  face  he 
turned  fiercely  upon  the  onlookers.  "  Get  outa  my  galley- 
doors,  you  bloomin'  swabs  !  " 

This  command  was  reinforced  by  a  steaming  kettle  of 
water,  and  at  sight  of  it  the  sailors  scrambled  out  of  the 
way.  This  was  a  sort  of  victory  for  Thomas  Mugridge, 
and  enabled  him  to  accept  more  gracefully  the  defeat  I 
had  given  him,  though,  of  course,  he  was  too  discreet  to 
attempt  to  drive  the  hunters  away. 

"  I  see  Cooky's  finish,"  I  heard  Smoke  say  to  Horner. 

"  You  bet,"  was  the  reply.  "  Hump  runs  the  galley 
from  now  on,  and  Cooky  pulls  in  his  horns." 

Mugridge  heard  and  shot  a  swift  glance  at  me,  but  I 
gave  no  sign  that  the  conversation  had  reached  me.  I  had 
not  thought  my  victory  was  so  far-reaching  and  complete, 
but  I  resolved  to  let  go  nothing  I  had  gained.  As  the 
days  went  by,  Smoke's  prophecy  was  verified.  The 
Cockney  became  more  humble  and  slavish  to  me  than  even 
to  Wolf  Larsen.  I  mistered  him  and  sirred  him  no 


94  THE  SEA-WOLF 

longer,  washed  no  more  greasy  pots,  and  peeled  no  more 
potatoes.  I  did  my  own  work,  and  my  own  work  only, 
and  when  and  in  what  fashion  I  saw  fit.  Also,  I  carried 
the  dirk  in  a  sheath  at  my  hip,  sailor-fashion,  and  main- 
tained toward  Thomas  Mugridge  a  constant  attitude  which 
was  composed  of  equal  parts  of  domineering,  insult,  and 
contempt 


CHAPTER  X 

MY  intimacy  with  Wolf  Larsen  increases — if  by  intimacy 
may  be  denoted  those  relations  which  exist  between  master 
and  man,  or,  better  yet,  between  king  and  jester.  I  am  to 
him  no  more  than  a  toy,  and  he  values  me  no  more  than  a 
child  values  a  toy.  My  function  is  to  amuse,  and  so  long 
as  I  amuse  all  goes  well ;  but  let  him  become  bored,  or  let 
him  have  one  of  his  black  moods  come  upon  him,  and 
at  once  I  am  relegated  from  cabin  table  to  galley,  while,  at 
the  same  time,  I  am  fortunate  to  escape  with  my  life  and  a 
whole  body. 

The  loneliness  of  the  man  is  slowly  being  borne  in  upon 
me.  There  is  not  a  man  aboard  but  hates  or  fears  him, 
nor  is  there  a  man  whom  he  does  not  despise0  He  seems 
consuming  with  the  tremendous  power  that  is  in  him  and 
that  seems  never  to  have  found  adequate  expression  in 
works.  He  is  as  Lucifer  would  be,  were  that  proud  spirit 
banished  to  a  society  of  soulless,  Tomlinsonian  ghosts. 

This  loneliness  is  bad  enough  in  itself,  but,  to  make 
it  worse,  he  is  oppressed  by  the  primal  melancholy  of  the 
race.  Knowing  him,  I  review  the  old  Scandinavian  myths 
with  clearer  understanding.  The  white-skinned,  fair-haired 
savages  who  created  that  terrible  pantheon  were  of  the 
same  fibre  as  he.  The  frivolity  of  the  laughter-loving 
Latins  is  no  part  of  him.  When  he  laughs  it  is  from  a 
humor  that  is  nothing  else  than  ferocious.  But  he  laughs 
rarely ;  he  is  too  often  sad.  And  it  is  a  sadness  as  deep- 
reaching  as  the  roots  of  the  race.  It  is  the  race  heritage. 


96  THE  SEA-WOLF 

the  sadness  which  has  made  the  race  sober-minded,  clean- 
lived,  and  fanatically  moral,  and  which,  in  this  latter  con- 
nection, has  culminated  among  the  English  in  the  Reformed 
Church  and  Mrs.  Grundy. 

In  point  of  fact,  the  chief  vent  to  this  primal  melancholy 
has  been  religion  in  its  more  agonizing  forms.  But  the 
compensations  of  such  religion  are  denied  Wolf  Larsen. 
His  brutal  materialism  will  not  permit  it.  So,  when  his 
blue  moods  come  on,  nothing  remains  for  him  but  to  be 
devilish.  Were  he  not  so  terrible  a  man,  I  could  some- 
times feel  sorry  for  him,  as  instance  three  mornings  ago, 
when  I  went  into  his  state-room  to  fill  his  water-bottle  and 
came  unexpectedly  upon  him.  He  did  not  see  me.  His 
head  was  buried  in  his  hands,  and  his  shoulders  were  heav- 
ing convulsively  as  with  sobs.  He  seemed  torn  by  some 
mighty  grief.  As  I  softly  withdrew  I  could  hear  him 
groaning,  "  God !  God  !  God ! "  Not  that  he  was  calling 
upon  God ;  it  was  a  mere  expletive,  but  it  came  from  his 
soul. 

At  dinner  he  asked  the  hunters  for  a  remedy  for  head- 
ache, and  by  evening,  strong  man  that  he  was,  he  was 
half-blind  and  reeling  about  the  cabin. 

"  I've  never  been  sick  in  my  life,  Hump,"  he  said,  as  I 
guided  him  to  his  room.  "  Nor  did  I  ever  have  a  headache 
except  the  time  my  head  was  healing  after  having  been 
laid  open  for  six  inches  by  a  capstan-bar/' 

For  three  days  this  blinding  headache  lasted,  and  he 
suffered  as  wild  animals  suffer,  as  it  seemed  the  way  on 
ship  to  suffer,  without  plaint,  without  sympathy,  utterly 
alone. 

This  morning,  however,  on  entering  his  state-room  to 
make  the  bed  and  put  things  in  order,  I  found  him  well 
and  hard  at  work.  Table  and  bunk  were  littered  with 


THE  SEA-WOLF  97 

designs  and  calculations.  On  a  large  transparent  sheet, 
compass  and  square  in  hand,  he  was  copying  what  ap- 
peared to  be  a  scale  of  some  sort  or  other. 

"Hello,  Hump,"  he  greeted  me  genially.  "I'm  just 
finishing  the  finishing  touches.  Want  to  see  it  work  ?  " 

"  But  what  is  it  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  A  labor-saving  device  for  mariners,  navigation  reduced 
to  kindergarten  simplicity,"  he  answered  gayly.  "  From 
to-day  a  child  will  be  able  to  navigate  a  ship.  No  more 
long-winded  calculations.  All  you  need  is  one  star  in  the 
sky  on  a  dirty  night  to  know  instantly  where  you  are. 
Look.  I  place  the  transparent  scale  on  this  star-map,  re- 
volving the  scale  on  the  North  Pole.  On  the  scale  I've 
worked  out  the  circles  of  altitude  and  the  lines  of  bearing. 
All  I  do  is  to  put  it  on  a  star,  revolve  the  scale  till  it  is 
opposite  those  figures  on  the  map  underneath,  and  presto ! 
there  you  are,  the  ship's  precise  location  ! " 

There  was  a  ring  of  triumph  in  his  voice,  and  his  eyes, 
clear  blue  this  morning  as  the  sea,  were  sparkling  with 
light. 

"  You  must  be  well  up  in  mathematics,"  I  said.  "  Where 
did  you  go  to  school  ? " 

"  Never  saw  the  inside  of  one,  worse  luck,"  was  the 
answer.  "  I  had  to  dig  it  out  for  myself." 

"  And  why  do  you  think  I  have  made  this  thing  ?  "  he 
demanded,  abruptly.  "  Dreaming  to  leave  footprints  on 
the  sands  of  time  ? "  He  laughed  one  of  his  horrible 
mocking  laughs.  "Not  at  all.  To  get  it  patented,  to 
make  money  from  it,  to  revel  in  piggishness  with  all  night 
in  while  other  men  do  the  work.  That's  my  purpose. 
Also,  I  have  enjoyed  working  it  out." 

"The  creative  joy,"  I  murmured. 

"  I  guess  that's  what  it  ought  to  be  called.     Which  is 


98  THE  SEA-WOLF 

another  way  of  expressing  the  joy  of  life  in  that  it  is  alive9 
the  triumph  of  movement  over  matter,  of  the  quick  over 
the  dead,  the  pride  of  the  yeast  because  it  is  yeast  and 
crawls." 

I  threw  up  my  hands  with  helpless  disapproval  of  his 
inveterate  materialism  and  went  about  making  the  bed, 
He  continued  copying  lines  and  figures  upon  the  trans- 
parent  scale.  It  was  a  task  requiring  the  utmost  nicety 
and  precision,  and  I  could  not  but  admire  the  way  he  tem- 
pered his  strength  to  the  fineness  and  delicacy  of  the  need- 
When  I  had  finished  the  bed,  I  caught  myself  looking 
at  him  in  a  fascinated  sort  of  way.  He  was  certainly  a 
handsome  man  —  beautiful  in  the  masculine  sense.  And 
again,  with  never-failing  wonder,  I  remarked  the  total  lack 
of  viciousness,  or  wickedness,  or  sinfulness,  in  his  face.  It 
was  the  face,  I  am  convinced,  of  a  man  who  did  no  wrong. 
And  by  this  I  do  not  wish  to  be  misunderstood.  What  I 
mean  is  that  it  was  the  face  of  a  man  who  either  did 
nothing  contrary  to  the  dictates  of  his  conscience,  or  who 
had  no  conscience.  I  am  inclined  to  the  latter  way  of 
accounting  for  it.  He  was  a  magnificent  atavism,  a  man 
so  purely  primitive  that  he  was  of  the  type  that  came  into 
the  world  before  the  development  of  the  moral  natureo 
He  was  not  immoral,  but  merely  unmoral. 

As  I  have  said,  in  the  masculine  sense  his  was  a  beauti- 
ful face.  Smooth-shaven,  every  line  was  distinct,  and  it 
was  cut  as  clear  and  sharp  as  a  cameo;  while  sea  and 
sun  had  tanned  the  naturally  fair  skin  to  a  dark  bronze 
which  bespoke  struggle  and  battle  and  added  both  to  his 
savagery  and  his  beauty.  The  lips  were  full,  yet  pos- 
sessed,-of  the  firmness,  almost  harshness,  which  is  charac- 
teristic of  thin  lips.  The  set  of  his  mouth,  his  chin,  his 
jaw,  was  likewise  firm  or  harsh,  with  all  the  fierceness  and 


THE  SEA-WOLF  99 

indomitableness  of  the  male  —  the  nose  also.  It  was  the 
nose  of  a  being  born  to  conquer  and  command.  It  just 
hinted  of  the  eagle  beak.  It  might  have  been  Grecian, 
it  might  have  been  Roman,  only  it  was  a  shade  too  mas- 
sive for  the  one,  a  shade  too  delicate  for  the  other.  And 
while  the  whole  face  was  the  incarnation  of  fierceness  and 
strength,  the  primal  melancholy  from  which  he  suffered 
seemed  to  greaten  the  lines  of  mouth  and  eye  and  brow, 
seemed  to  give  a  largeness  and  completeness  which 
otherwise  the  face  would  have  lacked. 

And  so  I  caught  myself  standing  idly  and  studying 
him.  I  cannot  say  how  greatly  the  man  had  come  to 
interest  me.  Who  was  he?  What  was  he?  How  had 
he  happened  to  be?  All  powers  seemed  his,  all  poten- 
tialities,—  why,  then,  was  he  no  more  than  the  obscure 
master  of  a  seal-hunting  schooner  with  a  reputation  for 
frightful  brutality  amongst  the  men  who  hunted  seals  ? 

My  curiosity  burst  from  me  in  a  flood  of  speech. 

"  Why  is  it  that  you  have  not  done  great  things  in  this 
world?  With  the  power  that  is  yours  you  might  have 
risen  to  any  height.  Unpossessed  of  conscience  or  moral 
instinct,  you  might  have  mastered  the  world,  broken  it  to 
your  hand.  And  yet  here  you  are,  at  the  top  of  your  life, 
where  diminishing  and  dying  begin,  living  an  obscure  and 
sordid  existence,  hunting  sea  animals  for  the  satisfaction 
of  woman's  vanity  and  love  of  decoration,  revelling  in  a 
piggishness,  to  use  your  own  words,  which  is  anything 
arid  everything  except  splendid.  Why,  with  all  that  won- 
derful strength,  have  you  not  done  something?  There 
was  nothing  to  stop  you,  nothing  that  could  stop  you. 
What  was  wrong?  Did  you  lack  ambition?  Did  you 
fall  under  temptation?  What  was  the  matter?  What 
was  the  matter?" 


IOO  THE  SEA-WOLF 

He  had  lifted  his  eyes  to  me  at  the  commencement  of 
my  outburst,  and  followed  me  complacently  until  I  had 
done  and  stood  before  him  breathless  and  dismayed.  He 
waited  a  moment,  as  though  seeking  where  to  begin,  and 
then  said : 

"  Hump,  do  you  know  the  parable  of  the  sower  who 
went  forth  to  sow?  If  you  will  remember,  some  of  the 
seed  fell  upon  stony  places,  where  there  was  not  much 
earth,  and  forthwith  they  sprung  up  because  they  had  no 
deepness  of  earth.  And  when  the  sun  was  up  they  were 
scorched,  and  because  they  had  no  root  they  withered 
away.  And  some  fell  among  thorns,  and  the  thorns 
sprung  up  and  choked  them." 

"Well?"  I  said. 

"  Well  ? "  he  queried,  half  petulantly.  "  It  was  not 
well.  I  was  one  of  those  seeds." 

He  dropped  his  head  to  the  scale  and  resumed  the 
copying.  I  finished  my  work  and  had  opened  the  door 
to  leave,  when  he  spoke  to  me. 

"  Hump,  if  you  will  look  on  the  west  coast  of  the  map 
of  Norway  you  will  see  an  indentation  called  Romsdai 
Fiord.  I  was  born  within  a  hundred  miles  of  that  stretch 
of  water.  But  I  was  not  born  Norwegian.  I  am  a  Dane. 
My  father  and  mother  were  Danes,  and  how  they  ever 
came  to  that  bleak  bight  of  land  on  the  west  coast  I  do 
not  know.  I  never  heard.  Outside  of  that  there  is 
nothing  mysterious.  They  were  poor  people  and  unlet- 
tered. They  came  of  generations  of  poor  unlettered 
people  —  peasants  of  the  sea  who  sowed  their  sons  on  the 
waves  as  has  been  their  custom  since  time  began.  There 
is  no  more  to  tell." 

"  But  there  is,"  I  objected.     "  It  is  still  obscure  to  me." 

"  What  can  I  tell  you  ? "  he  demanded,  with  a  recru- 


THE  SEA-WOLF  IOI 

descence  of  fierceness.  "  Of  the  meagreness  of  a  child's 
life  ?  of  fish  diet  and  coarse  living  ?  of  going  out  with  the 
boats  from  the  time  I  could  crawl  ?  of  my  brothers,  who 
went  away  one  by  one  to  the  deep-sea  farming  and  never 
came  back  ?  of  myself,  unable  to  read  or  write,  cabin-boy 
at  the  mature  age  of  ten  on  the  coastwise,  old-country 
ships  ?  of  the  rough  fare  and  rougher  usage,  where  kicks 
and  blows  were  bed  and  breakfast  and  took  the  place  of 
speech,  and  fear  and  hatred  and  pain  were  my  only  soul- 
experiences?  I  do  not  care  to  remember.  A  madness 
comes  up  in  my  brain  even  now  as  I  think  of  it.  But  there 
were  coastwise  skippers  I  would  have  returned  and  killed 
when  a  man's  strength  came  to  me,  only  the  lines  of  my 
life  were  cast  at  the  time  in  other  places.  I  did  return, 
not  long  ago,  but  unfortunately  the  skippers  were  dead, 
all  but  one,  a  mate  in  the  old  days,  a  skipper  when  I  met 
him,  and  when  I  left  him  a  cripple  who  would  never  walk 
again." 

"  But  you  who  read  Spencer  and  Darwin  and  have  never 
seen  the  inside  of  a  school,  how  did  you  learn  to  read  and 
write?"  I  queried. 

"  In  the  English  merchant  service.  Cabin-boy  at  twelve, 
ship's  boy  at  fourteen,  ordinary  seaman  at  sixteen,  able 
seaman  at  seventeen,  and  cock  of  the  fo'c'sle,  infinite  am- 
bition and  infinite  loneliness,  receiving  neither  help  nor 
sympathy,  I  did  it  all  for  myself  —  navigation,  mathe- 
matics, science,  literature,  and  what  not.  And  of  what 
use  has  it  been  ?  Master  and  owner  of  a  ship  at  the  top 
of  my  life,  as  you  say,  when  I  am  beginning  to  diminish 
and  die.  Paltry,  isn't  it?  And  when  the  sun  was  up  1 
was  scorched,  and  because  I  had  no  root  I  withered  away." 

"  But  history  tells  of  slaves  who  rose  to  the  purple,"  I 
chided 


102  THE  SEA-WOLF 

"  And  history  tells  of  opportunities  that  came  to  the  slaves 
who  rose  to  the  purple,"  he  answered  grimly.  "  No  man 
makes  opportunity.  All  the  great  men  ever  did  was  to 
know  it  when  it  came  to  them.  The  Corsican  knew.  I 
have  dreamed  as  greatly  as  the  Corsican.  I  should  have 
known  the  opportunity,  but  it  never  came.  The*  thorns 
sprung  up  and  choked  me.  And,  Hump,  I  can  tell  you 
that  you  know  more  about  me  than  any  living  man,  except 
my  own  brother." 

"  And  what  is  he  ?     And  where  is  he  ? " 

"  Master  of  the  steamship  Macedonia,  seal-hunter,"  was 
the  answer.  "We  will  meet  him  most  probably  on  the 
Japan  coast.  Men  call  him  *  Death '  Larsen." 

"  Death  Larsen  ! "  I  involuntarily  cried.  "  Is  he  like 
you?" 

"  Hardly.  He  is  a  lump  of  an  animal  without  any  head. 
He  has  all  my  —  my  —  " 

"  Brutishness,"  I  suggested. 

"  Yes,  —  thank  you  for  the  word,  —  all  my  brutishness, 
but  he  can  scarcely  read  or  write." 

"  And  he  has  never  philosophized  on  life,"  I  added. 

"  No,"  Wolf  Larsen  answered,  with  an  indescribable  air 
of  sadness.  "And  he  is  all  the  happier  for  leaving  life 
alone.  He  is  too  busy  living  it  to  think  about  it.  My 
mistake  was  in  ever  opening  the  books." 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  Ghost  has  attained  the  southernmost  point  of  the  arc 
she  is  describing  across  the  Pacific,  and  is  already  begin- 
ning to  edge  away  to  the  west  and  north  toward  some  lone 
island,  it  is  rumored,  where  she  will  fill  her  water-casks 
before  proceeding  to  the  season's  hunt  along  the  coast  of 
Japan.  The  hunters  have  experimented  and  practised  with 
their  rifles  and  shotguns  till  they  are  satisfied,  and  the  boat- 
pullers  and  steerers  have  made  their  spritsails,  bound  the 
oars  and  rowlocks  in  leather  and  sennit  so  that  they  will 
make  no  noise  when  creeping  on  the.  seals,  and  put  their 
boats  in  apple-pie  order  —  to  use  Leach's  homely  phrase. 

His  arm,  by  the  way,  has  healed  nicely,  though  the  scar 
will  remain  all  his  life.  Thomas  Mugridge  lives  in  mortal 
fear  of  him,  and  is  afraid  to  venture  on  deck  after  dark. 
There  are  two  or  three  standing  quarrels  in  the  forecastle. 
Louis  tells  me  that  the  gossip  of  the  sailors  finds  its  way 
aft,  and  that  two  of  the  telltales  have  been  badly  beaten 
by  their  mates.  He  shakes  his  head  dubiously  over  the 
outlook  for  the  man  Johnson,  who  is  boat-puller  in  the 
same  boat  with  him.  Johnson  has  been  guilty  of  speaking 
his  mind  too  freely,  and  has  collided  two  or  three  times  with 
Wolf  Larsen  over  the  pronunciation  of  his  name.  Johan- 
sen  he  thrashed  on  the  amidships  deck  the  other  night, 
since  which  time  the  mate  has  called  him  by  his  proper 
name.  But  of  course  it  is  out  of  the  question  that  Johnson 
should  thrash  Wolf  Larsen. 

Louis  has  also  given  me  additional  information  about 

103 


104  THE  SEA-WOLF 

Death  Larsen,  which  tallies  with  the  captain's  brief  de- 
scription. We  may  expect  to  meet  Death  Larsen  on  the 
Japan  coast.  "  And  look  out  for  squalls,"  is  Louis's  proph- 
ecy, "  for  they  hate  one  another  like  the  wolf -whelps  they 
are."  Death  Larsen  is  in  command  of  the  only  sealing- 
steamer  in  the  fleet,  the  Macedonia,  which  carries  fourteen 
boats,  whereas  the  rest  of  the  schooners  carry  only  six. 
There  is  wild  talk  of  cannon  aboard,  and  of  strange  raids  and 
expeditions  she  may  make,  ranging  from  opium  smuggling 
into  the  States  and  arms  smuggling  into  China,  to  black- 
birding  and  open  piracy.  Yet  I  cannot  but  believe  Louis, 
for  I  have  never  yet  caught  him  in  a  lie,  while  he  has  a 
cyclopaedic  knowledge  of  sealing  and  the  men  of  the  seal- 
ing fleets. 

As  it  is  forward  and  in  the  galley,  so  it  is  in  the  steerage 
and  aft,  on  this  veritable  hell-ship.  Men  fight  and  strug- 
gle ferociously  for  one  another's  lives.  The  hunters  are 
looking  for  a  shooting  scrape  at  any  moment  between 
Smoke  and  Henderson,  whose  old  quarrel  has  not  healed, 
while  Wolf  Larsen  says  positively  that  he  will  kill  the  sur- 
vivor of  the  affair,  if  such  affair  comes  off.  He  frankly 
states  that  the  position  he  takes  is  based  on  no  moral 
grounds,  that  all  the  hunters  could  kill  and  eat  one  another 
so  far  as  he  is  concerned,  were  it  not  that  he  needs  them 
alive  for  the  hunting.  If  they  will  only  hold  their  hands 
until  the  season  is  over,  he  promises  them  a  royal  carnival, 
when  all  grudges  can  be  settled  and  the  survivors  may  toss 
the  non-survivors  overboard  and  arrange  a  story  as  to  how 
the  missing  men  were  lost  at  sea.  I  think  even  the 
hunters  are  appalled  at  his  cold-bloodedness.  Wicked 
men  though  they  be,  they  are  certainly  very  much  afraid 
of  him. 

Thomas  Mugridge  is  cur-like  in  his  subjection  to  me, 


THE  SEA- WOLF  10$ 

while  I  go  about  in  secret  dread  of  him.  His  is  the  cour- 
age of  fear,  —  a  strange  thing  I  know  well  of  myself,  — 
and  at  any  moment  it  may  master  the  fear  and  impel  him 
to  the  taking  of  my  life.  My  knee  is  much  better,  though 
it  often  aches  for  long  periods,  and  the  stiffness  is  gradu- 
ally leaving  the  arm  which  Wolf  Larsen  squeezed.  Other- 
wise I  am  in  splendid  condition,  feel  that  I  am  in 
splendid  condition.  My  muscles  are  growing  harder 
and  increasing  in  size.  My  hands,  however,  are  a  spec- 
tacle for  grief.  They  have  a  parboiled  appearance,  are 
afflicted  with  hang-nails,  while  the  nails  are  broken  and 
discolored,  and  the  edges  of  the  quick  seem  to  be  as- 
suming a  fungoid  sort  of  growth.  Also,  I  am  suffering 
from  boils,  due  to  the  diet,  most  likely,  for  I  was  never 
afflicted  in  this  manner  before. 

I  was  amused,  a  couple  of  evenings  back,  by  seeing 
Wolf  Larsen  reading  the  Bible,  a  copy  of  which,  after  the 
futile  search  for  one  at  the  beginning  of  the  voyage,  had 
been  found  in  the  dead  mate's  sea-chest.  I  wondered 
what  Wolf  Larsen  could  get  from  it,  and  he  read  aloud 
to  me  from  Ecclesiastes.  I  could  imagine  he  was  speak- 
ing the  thoughts  of  his  own  mind  as  he  read  to  me,  and 
his  voice,  reverberating  deeply  and  mournfully  in  the  con- 
fined cabin,  charmed  and  held  me.  He  may  be  unedu- 
cated, but  he  certainly  knows  how  to  express  the 
significance  of  the  written  word.  I  can  hear  him  now, 
as  I  shall  always  hear  him,  the  primal  melancholy  vibrant 
in  his  voice  as  he  read : 

"  I  gathered  me  also  silver  and  gold,  and  the  peculiar 
treasure  of  kings  and  of  the  provinces;  I  gat  me  men 
singers  and  women  singers,  and  the  delights  of  the  sons 
of  men,  as  musical  instruments,  and  that  of  all  sorts. 


106  THE  SEA-WOLF 

"  So  I  was  great,  and  increased  more  than  all  that  were 
before  me  in  Jerusalem ;  also  my  wisdom  remained  with 
me. 

"Then  I  looked  on  all  the  works  that  my  hands  had 
wrought  and  on  the  labor  that  I  had  labored  to  do;  and 
behold,  all  was  vanity  and  vexation  of  spirit,  and  there 
was  no  profit  under  the  sun. 

"  All  things  come  alike  to  all ;  there  is  one  event  to  the 
righteous  and  to  the  wicked ;  to  the  good  and  to  the  clean, 
and  to  the  unclean ;  to  him  that  sacrificeth,  and  to  him 
that  sacrificeth  not;  as  is  the  good,  so  is  the  sinner;  and 
he  that  sweareth,  as  he  that  feareth  an  oath. 

"  This  is  an  evil  among  all  things  that  are  done  under 
the  sun,  that  there  is  one  event  unto  all;  yea,  also  the 
heart  of  the  sons  of  men  is  full  of  evil,  and  madness  is  in 
their  heart  while  they  live,  and  after  that  they  go  to  the 
dead. 

"  For  to  him  that  is  joined  to  all  the  living  there  is  hope ; 
for  a  living  dog  is  better  than  a  dead  lion. 

"  For  the  living  know  that  they  shall  die ;  but  the  dead 
know  not  anything,  neither  have  they  any  more  a  reward ; 
for  the  memory  of  them  is  forgotten. 

"Also  their  love,  and  their  hatred,  and  their  envy,  is 
now  perished ;  neither  have  they  any  more  a  portion  for- 
ever in  anything  that  is  done  under  the  sun." 

"There  you  have  it,  Hump,"  he  said,  closing  the  book 
upon  his  finger  and  looking  up  at  me.  "The  Preacher 
who  was  king  over  Israel  in  Jerusalem  thought  as  I  think. 
You  call  me  a  pessimist.  Is  not  this  pessimism  of  the 
blackest  ?  — '  All  is  vanity  and  vexation  of  spirit,'  '  There 
?s  no  profit  under  the  sun,'  *  There  is  one  event  unto  all/ 
to  the  fool  and  the  wise,  the  clean  and  the  unclean,  the 


THE  SEA-WOLF  IQ; 

sinner  and  the  saint,  and  that  event  is  death,  and  an  evil 
thing,  he  says.  For  the  Preacher  loved  life,  and  did  not 
want  to  die,  saying,  '  For  a  living  dog  is  better  than  a  dead 
lion.'  He  preferred  the  vanity  and  vexation  to  the  silence 
and  unmovableness  of  the  grave.  And  so  I.  To  crawl 
is  piggish ;  but  to  not  crawl,  to  be  as  the  clod  and  rock,  is 
loathsome  to  contemplate.  It  is  loathsome  to  the  life  that 
is  in  me,  the  very  essence  of  which  is  movement,  the  power 
of  movement,  and  the  consciousness  of  the  power  of  move- 
ment. Life  itself  is  unsatisfaction,  but  to  look  ahead  to 
death  is  greater  unsatisfaction." 

"  You  are  worse  off  than  Omar/'  I  said.  "  He,  at  least, 
after  the  customary  agonizing  of  youth,  found  content  and 
made  of  his  materialism  a  joyous  thing." 

"Who  was  Omar?".  Wolf  Larsen  asked,  and  I  did  no 
more  work  that  day,  nor  the  next,  nor  the  next. 

In  his  random  reading  he  had  never  chanced  upon  the 
Rubaiyat,  and  it  was  to  him  like  a  great  find  of  treasure. 
Much  I  remembered,  possibly  two-thirds  of  the  quatrains, 
and  I  managed  to  piece  out  the  remainder  without  diffi- 
culty. We  talked  for  hours  over  single  stanzas,  and  I 
found  him  reading  into  them  a  wail  of  regret  and  a  rebel- 
lion which,  for  the  life  of  me,  I  could  not  discover  my- 
self. Possibly  I  recited  with  a  certain  joyous  lilt  which 
was  my  own,  for,  —  his  memory  was  good,  and  at  a  second 
rendering,  very  often  the  first,  he  made  a  quatrain  his 
own,  —  he  recited  the  same  lines  and  invested  them 
with  an  unrest  and  passionate  revolt  that  was  well-nigh 
convincing. 

I  was  interested  as  to  which  quatrain  he  would  like  best, 
and  was  not  surprised  when  he  hit  upon  the  one  born  of 
an  instant's  irritability,  and  quite  at  variance  with  the  Per- 
sian's complacent  philosophy  and  genial  code  of  life :  — 


IO8  THE  SEA-WOLF 

"What,  without  asking,  hither  hurried  Whence f 
And,  without  asking,  Whither  hurried  hence  ! 

Oh,  many  a  Cup  of  this  forbidden  Wine 
Must  drown  the  memory  of  that  insolence  ! " 

"  Great !  "  Wolf  Larsen  cried.  "  Great !  That's  the  key- 
note. Insolence !  He  could  not  have  used  a  better  word." 

In  vain  I  objected  and  denied.  He  deluged  me,  over- 
whelmed me  with  argument. 

"  It's  not  the  nature  of  life  to  be  otherwise.  Life,  when 
it  knows  that  it  must  cease  living,  will  always  rebel.  It 
cannot  help  itself.  The  Preacher  found  life  and  the  works 
of  life  all  a  vanity  and  vexation,  an  evil  thing ;  but  death, 
the  ceasing  to  be  able  to  be  vain  and  vexed,  he  found  an 
eviler  thing.  Through  chapter  after  chapter  he  is  worried 
by  the  one  event  that  cometh  to  all  alike.  So  Omar,  so  I, 
so  you,  even  you,  for  you  rebelled  against  dying  when 
Cooky  sharpened  a  knife  for  you.  You  were  afraid  to 
die ;  the  life  that  was  in  you,  that  composes  you,  that  is 
greater  than  you,  did  not  want  to  die.  You  have  talked 
of  the  instinct  of  immortality.  I  talk  of  the  instinct  of  life, 
which  is  to  live,  and  which,  when  death  looms  near  and 
large,  masters  the  instinct,  so  called,  of  immortality.  It 
mastered  it  in  you  (you  cannot  deny  it),  because  a  crazy 
Cockney  cook  sharpened  a  knife. 

"  You  are  afraid  of  him  now.  You  are  afraid  of  me. 
You  cannot  deny  it.  If  I  should  catch  you  by  the  throat, 
thus,"  —  his  hand  was  about  my  throat  and  my  breath  was 
shut  off,  —  "  and  began  to  press  the  life  out  of  you,  thus, 
and  thus,  your  instinct  of  immortality  will  go  glimmering, 
and  your  instinct  of  life,  which  is  longing  for  life,  will  flut- 
ter up,  and  you  will  struggle  to  save  yourself.  Eh  ?  I  see 
the  fear  of  death  in  your  eyes.  You  beat  the  air  with  your 
arms.  You  exert  all  your  puny  strength  to  struggle  to 


THE  SEA-WOLF  1 09 

live.  Your  hand  is  clutching  my  arm,  lightly  it  feels  as  a 
butterfly  resting  there.  Your  chest  is  heaving,  your  tongue 
protruding,  your  skin  turning  dark,  your  eyes  swimming, 
'  To  live !  To  live !  To  live ! '  you  are  crying ;  and  you  are 
crying  to  live  here  and  now,  not  hereafter.  You  doubt 
your  immortality,  eh  ?  Ha !  Ha  !  You  are  not  sure  of  it. 
You  won't  chance  it.  This  life  only  you  are  certain  is 
real.  Ah,  it  is  growing  dark  and  darker.  It  is  the  dark- 
ness of  death,  the  ceasing  to  be,  the  ceasing  to  feel,  the 
ceasing  to  move,  that  is  gathering  about  you,  descending 
upon  you,  rising  around  you.  Your  eyes  are  becoming  set. 
They  are  glazing.  My  voice  sounds  faint  and  far.  You 
cannot  see  my  face.  And  still  you  struggle  in  my  grip. 
You  kick  with  your  legs.  Your  body  draws  itself  up  in 
knots  like  a  snake's.  Your  chest  heaves  and  strains.  To 
live!  To  live!  To  live  —  " 

I  heard  no  more.  Consciousness  was  blotted  out  by  the 
darkness  he  had  so  graphically  described,  and  when  I  came 
to  myself  I  was  lying  on  the  floor  and  he  was  smoking  a 
cigar  and  regarding  me  thoughtfully  with  that  old  familiar 
light  of  curiosity  in  his  eyes. 

"  Well,  have  I  convinced  you  ? "  he  demanded.  "  Here, 
take  a  drink  of  this.  I  want  to  ask  you  some  questions." 

I  rolled  my  head  negatively  on  the  floor.  "Your  argu- 
ments are  too  —  er  —  forcible"  I  managed  to  articulate, 
at  cost  of  great  pain  to  my  aching  throat. 

"  You'll  be  all  right  in  half  an  hour,"  he  assured  me. 
"  And  I  promise  I  won't  use  any  more  physical  demonstra- 
tions. Get  up  now.  You  can  sit  on  a  chair." 

And,  toy  that  I  was  of  this  monster,  the  discussion  of 
Omar  and  the  Preacher  was  resumed.  And  half  the  night 
we  sat  up  over  it. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  last  twenty-four  hours  have  witnessed  a  carnival  of 
brutality.  From  cabin  to  forecastle  it  seems  to  have 
broken  out  like  a  contagion.  I  scarcely  know  where  to 
begin.  Wolf  Larsen  was  really  the  cause  of  it.  The  rela- 
tions among  the  men,  strained  and  made  tense  by  feuds, 
quarrels,  and  grudges,  were  in  a  state  of  unstable  equi- 
librium, and  evil  passions  flared  up  in  flame  like  prairie- 
grass. 

Thomas  Mugridge  is  a  sneak,  a  spy,  an  informer.  He 
has  been  attempting  to  curry  favor  and  reinstate  himself 
in  the  good  graces  of  the  captain  by  carrying  tales  of  the 
men  forward.  He  it  was,  I  know,  that  carried  some  of 
Johnson's  hasty  talk  to  Wolf  Larsen.  Johnson,  it  seems, 
bought  a  suit  of  oilskins  from  the  slop-chest  and  found 
them  to  be  of  greatly  inferior  quality.  Nor  was  he  slow 
in  advertising  the  fact.  The  slop-chest  is  a  sort  of  minia- 
ture dry-goods  store  which  is  carried  by  all  sealing  schooners 
and  which  is  stocked  with  articles  peculiar  to  the  needs  of 
the  sailors.  Whatever  a  sailor  purchases  is  taken  from  his 
subsequent  earnings  on  the  sealing  grounds ;  for,  as  it  is 
with  the  hunters  so  it  is  with  the  boat-pullers  and  steerers 
—  in  the  place  of  wages  they  receive  a  "lay,"  a  rate  of  so 
much  per  skin  for  every  skin  captured  in  their  particular  boat. 

But  of  Johnson's  grumbling  at  the  slop-chest  I  knew 
nothing,  so  that  what  I  witnessed  came  with  the  shock  of 
sudden  surprise.  I  had  just  finished  sweeping  the  cabin, 
and  had  been  inveigled  by  Wolf  Larsen  into  a  discussion 

no 


THE  SEA-WOLF  III 

of  Hamlet,  his  favorite  Shakespearian  character,  when 
Johansen  descended  the  companion  stairs  followed  by 
Johnson.  The  latter's  cap  came  off  after  the  custom  of 
the  sea,  and  he  stood  respectfully  in  the  centre  of  the 
cabin,  swaying  heavily  and  uneasily  to  the  roll  of  the 
schooner  and  facing  the  captain. 

"  Shut  the  doors  and  draw  the  slide,"  Wolf  Larsen  said 
to  me. 

As  I  obeyed  I  noticed  an  anxious  light  come  into  John- 
son's eyes,  but  I  did  not  dream  of  its  cause.  I  did  not 
dream  of  what  was  to  occur  until  it  did  occur,  but  he  knew 
from  the  very  first  what  was  coming  and  awaited  it  bravely. 
And  in  his  action  I  found  complete  refutation  of  all  Wolf 
Larsen's  materialism.  The  sailor  Johnson  was  swayed  by 
idea,  by  principle,  and  truth,  and  sincerity.  He  was  right, 
he  knew  he  was  right,  and  he  was  unafraid.  He  would 
die  for  the  right  if  needs  be,  he  would  be  true  to  himself, 
sincere  with  his  soul.  And  in  this  was  portrayed  the  vic- 
tory of  the  spirit  over  the  flesh,  the  indomitability  and 
moral  grandeur  of  the  soul  that  knows  no  restriction 
and  rises  above  time  and  space  and  matter  with  a  surety 
and  invincibleness  born  of  nothing  else  than  eternity  and 
immortality. 

But  to  return.  I  noticed  the  anxious  light  in  Johnson's 
eyes,  but  mistook  it  for  the  native  shyness  and  embarrass- 
ment of  the  man.  The  mate,  Johansen,  stood  away  several 
feet  to  the  side  of  him,  and  fully  three  yards  in  front  of 
him  sat  Wolf  Larsen  on  one  of  the  pivotal  cabin  chairs. 
An  appreciable  pause  fell  after  I  had  closed  the  doors 
and  drawn  the  slide,  a  pause  that  must  have  lasted  fully  a 
minute.  It  was  broken  by  Wolf  Larsen. 

"  Yonson,"  he  began. 

"  My  name  is  Johnson,  sir,"  the  sailor  boldly  corrected. 


112  THE  SEA-WOLF 

"  Well,  Johnson,  then,  damn  you !  Can  you  guess  why 
I  have  sent  for  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  no,  sir,"  was  the  slow  reply.  "  My  work  is 
done  well.  The  mate  knows  that,  and  you  know  it,  sir. 
So  there  cannot  be  any  complaint." 

"  And  is  that  all  ? "  Wolf  Larsen  queried,  his  voice  soft, 
and  low,  and  purring. 

"  I  know  you  have  it  in  for  me,"  Johnson  continued  with 
his  unalterable  and  ponderous  slowness.  "You  do  not 
like  me.  You  —  You  —  " 

"  Go  on,"  Wolf  Larsen  prompted.  "  Don't  be  afraid  of 
my  feelings." 

"I  am  not  afraid,"  the  sailor  retorted,  a  slight  angry 
flush  rising  through  his  sunburn.  "  If  I  speak  not  fast,  it 
is  because  I  have  not  been  from  the  old  country  as  long  as 
you.  You  do  not  like  me  because  I  am  too  much  of  a 
man ;  that  is  why,  sir." 

"  You  are  too  much  of  a  man  for  ship  discipline,  if  that 
is  what  you  mean,  and  if  you  know  what  I  mean,"  was 
Wolf  Larsen 's  retort. 

"  I  know  English,  and  I  know  what  you  mean,  sir,'* 
Johnson  answered,  his  flush  deepening  at  the  slur  on  his 
knowledge  of  the  English  language. 

"  Johnson,"  Wolf  Larsen  said,  with  an  air  of  dismissing 
all  that  had  gone  before  as  introductory  to  the  main  busi- 
ness in  hand,  "  I  understand  you're  not  quite  satisfied 
with  those  oilskins  ? " 

"  No,  I  am  not.     They  are  no  good,  sir." 

"  And  you've  been  shooting  off  your  mouth  about  them." 

"  I  say  what  I  think,  sir,"  the  sailor  answered  courage- 
ously, not  failing  at  the  same  time  in  ship  courtesy,  which 
demanded  that  "sir"  be  appended  to  each  speech  he 


THE  SEA-WOLF  113 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  I  chanced  to  glance  at  Johan* 
sen.  His  big  fists  were  clenching  and  unclenching,  and  his 
face  was  positively  fiendish,  so  malignantly  did  he  look  at 
Johnson.  I  noticed  a  black  discoloration,  still  faintly  visi- 
ble, under  Johansen's  eye,  a  mark  of  the  thrashing  he  had 
received  a  few  nights  before  from  the  sailor.  For  the  first 
time  I  began  to  divine  that  something  terrible  was  about 
to  be  enacted,  —  what,  I  could  not  imagine. 

"  Do  you  know  what  happens  to  men  who  say  what 
you've  said  about  my  slop-chest  and  me  ? "  Wolf  Larsen 
was  demanding. 

"  I  know,  sir,"  was  the  answer. 

"  What  ? "  Wolf  Larsen  demanded,  sharply  and  impera- 
tively. 

"What  you  and  the  mate  there  are  going  to  do  to  me, 
sir." 

"Look  at  him,  Hump,"  Wolf  Larsen  said  to  me,  "look 
at  this  bit  of  animated  dust,  this  aggregation  of  matter  that 
moves  and  breathes  and  defies  me  and  thoroughly  believes 
itself  to  be  compounded  of  something  good ;  that  is  im- 
pressed with  certain  human  fictions  such  as  righteousness 
and  honesty,  and  that  will  live  up  to  them  in  spite  of  all 
personal  discomforts  and  menaces.  What  do  you  think  of 
him,  Hump  ?  What  do  you  think  of  him  ? " 

"  I  think  that  he  is  a  better  man  than  you  are,"  I 
answered,  impelled,  somehow,  with  a  desire  to  draw  upon 
myself  a  portion  of  the  wrath  I  felt  was  about  to  break 
upon  his  head.  "  His  human  fictions,  as  you  choose  to 
call  them,  make  for  nobility  and  manhood.  You  have  no 
fictions,  no  dreams,  no  ideals.  You  are  a  pauper." 

He  nodded  his  head  with  a  savage  pleasantness.  "  Quite 
true,  Hump,  quite  true.  I  have  no  fictions  that  make  for 
nobility  and  manhood.  A  living  dog  is  better  than  a  dead 


114  THE  SEA-WOLF 

lion,  say  I  with  the  preacher.  My  only  doctrine  is  the 
doctrine  of  expediency,  and  it  makes  for  surviving.  This 
bit  of  the  ferment  we  call  '  Johnson,'  when  he  is  no  longer 
a  bit  of  the  ferment,  only  dust  and  ashes,  will  have  no 
more  nobility  than  any  dust  and  ashes,  while  I  shall  still 
be  alive  and  roaring." 

"  Do  you  know  what  I  am  going  to  do  ?  "  he' questioned. 

I  shook  my  head. 

"  Well,  I  am  going  to  exercise  my  prerogative  of  roaring 
and  show  you  how  fares  nobility.  Watch  me." 

Three  yards  away  from  Johnson  he  was,  and  sitting 
down.  Nine  feet !  And  yet  he  left  the  chair  in  full  leap, 
without  first  gaming  a  standing  position.  He  left  the 
chair,  just  as  he  sat  in  it,  squarely,  springing  from  the 
sitting  posture  like  a  wild  animal,  a  tiger,  and  like  a  tiger 
covered  the  intervening  space.  It  was  an  avalanche  of 
fury  that  Johnson  strove  vainly  to  fend  off.  He  threw  one 
arm  down  to  protect  the  stomach,  the  other  arm  up  to  pro- 
tect the  head ;  but  Wolf  Larsen's  fist  drove  midway  be- 
tween, on  the  chest,  with  a  crushing,  resounding  impact. 
Johnson's  breath,  suddenly  expelled,  shot  from  his  mouth 
and  as  suddenly  checked,  with  the  forced,  audible  expira- 
tion of  a  man  wielding  an  axe.  He  almost  fell  backward, 
and  swayed  from  side  to  side  in  an  effort  to  recover  his 
balance. 

I  cannot  give  the  further  particulars  of  the  horrible 
scene  that  followed.  It  was  too  revolting.  It  turns  me 
sick  even  now  when  I  think  of  it.  Johnson  fought  bravely 
enough,  but  he  was  no  match  for  Wolf  Larsen,  much  less 
for  Wolf  Larsen  and  the  mate.  It  was  frightful.  I  had 
not  imagined  a  human  being  could  endure  so  much  and 
still  live  and  struggle  on.  And  struggle  on  Johnson  dido 
Of  course  there  was  no  hope  for  him,  not  the  slightest, 


THE  SEA-WOLF  II§ 

and  he  knew  it  as  well  as  I,  but  by  the  manhood  that  was 
in  him  he  could  not  cease  from  fighting  for  that  manhood. 

It  was  too  much  for  me  to  witness.  I  felt  that  I  should 
lose  my  mind,  and  I  ran  up  the  companion  stairs  to  open 
the  doors  and  escape  on  deck.  But  Wolf  Larsen,  leaving 
his  victim  for  the  moment,  and  with  one  of  his  tremendous 
springs,  gained  my  side  and  flung  me  into  the  far  corner 
of  the  cabin. 

"  The  phenomena  of  life,  Hump,"  he  girded  at  me. 
"  Stay  and  watch  it.  You  may  gather  data  on  the  immor- 
tality of  the  soul.  Besides,  you  know,  we  can't  hurt  John- 
son's soul.  It's  only  the  fleeting  form  we  may  demolish." 

It  seemed  centuries  —  possibly  it  was  no  more  than  ten 
minutes  that  the  beating  continued.  Wolf  Larsen  and 
Johansen  were  all  about  the  poor  fellow.  They  struck  him 
with  their  fists,  kicked  him  with  their  heavy  shoes,  knocked 
him  down,  and  dragged  him  to  his  feet  to  knock  him  down 
again.  His  eyes  were  blinded  so  that  he  could  not  see, 
and  the  blood  running  from  ears  and  nose  and  mouth 
turned  the  cabin  into  a  shambles.  And  when  he  could  no 
longer  rise  they  still  continued  to  beat  and  kick  him  where 
he  lay. 

"  Easy,  Johansen  ;  easy  as  she  goes,"  Wolf  Larsen  finally 
said. 

But  the  beast  in  the  mate  was  up  and  rampant,  and  Wolf 
Larsen  was  compelled  to  brush  him  away  with  a  back- 
handed sweep  of  the  arm,  gentle  enough,  apparently,  but 
which  hurled  Johansen  back  like  a  cork,  driving  his  head 
against  the  wall  with  a  crash.  He  fell  to  the  floor,  half 
stunned  for  the  moment,  breathing  heavily  and  blinking 
his  eyes  in  a  stupid  sort  of  way. 

"  Jerk  open  the  doors,  Hump,"  I  was  commanded. 

I  obeyed,  and  the  two  brutes  picked  up  the  senseless 


THE  SEA-WOLF 

man  like  a  sack  of  rubbish  and  hove  him  clear  up  the  com- 
panion stairs,  through  the  narrow  doorway,  and  out  on  deck. 
The  blood  from  his  nose  gushed  in  a  scarlet  stream  over 
the  feet  of  the  helmsman,  who  was  none  other  than  Louis, 
his  boat-mate.  But  Louis  took  and  gave  a  spoke  and 
gazed  imperturbably  into  the  binnacle. 

Not  so  was  the  conduct  of  George  Leach,  the  erstwhile 
cabin-boy.  Fore  and  aft  there  was  nothing  that  could 
have  surprised  us  more  than  his  consequent  behavior. 
He  it  was  that  came  up  on  the  poop  without  orders  and 
dragged  Johnson  forward,  where  he  set  about  dressing  his 
wounds  as  well  as  he  could  and  making  him  comfortable. 
Johnson,  as  Johnson,  was  unrecognizable;  and  not  only 
that,  for  his  features,  as  human  features  at  all,  were  un- 
recognizable, so  discolored  and  swollen  had  they  become 
in  the  few  minutes  which  had  elapsed  between  the  begin- 
ning of  the  beating  and  the  dragging  forward  of  the  body. 

But  of  Leach's  behavior  —  By  the  time  I  had  finished 
cleansing  the  cabin  he  had  taken  care  of  Johnson.  I  had 
come  up  on  deck  for  a  breath  of  fresh  air  and  to  try  to 
get  some  repose  for  my  overwrought  nerves.  Wolf  Lar- 
sen  was  smoking  a  cigar  and  examining  the  patent  log 
which  the  Ghost  usually  towed  astern  but  which  had  been 
hauled  in  for  some  purpose.  Suddenly  Leach's  voice  came 
to  my  ears.  It  was  tense  and  hoarse  with  an  overmaster- 
ing rage.  I  turned  and  saw  him  standing  just  beneath  the 
break  of  the  poop  on  the  port  side  of  the  galley.  His 
face  was  convulsed  and  white,  his  eyes  were  flashing,  his 
clenched  fists  raised  overhead. 

"May  God  damn  your  soul  to  hell,  Wolf  Larsen,  only 
hell's  too  good  for  you,  you  coward,  you  murderer,  you 
pig  !  "  was  his  opening  salutation. 

I  was  thunderstruck.     I  looked  for  his  instant  annihi- 


HIS  FACE  WAS  CONVULSED  AND  WHITE,   HIS    EYES  WERE   FLASHING,   HIS 
CLENCHED   FIST  RAISED  OVERHEAD." 


THE  SEA-WOLF  1 1/ 

lation.  But  it  was  not  Wolf  Larsen's  whim  to  annihilate 
him.  He  sauntered  slowly  forward  to  the  break  of  the 
poop,  and,  leaning  his  elbow  on  the  corner  of  the  cabin, 
gazed  down  thoughtfully  and  curiously  at  the  excited  boy. 

And  the  boy  indicted  Wolf  Larsen  as  he  had  never  been 
indicted  before.  The  sailors  assembled  in  a  fearful  group 
just  outside  the  forecastle  scuttle  and  watched  and  listened. 
The  hunters  piled  pell-mell  out  of  the  steerage,  but  as 
Leach's  tirade  continued  I  saw  that  there  was  no  levity  in 
their  faces.  Even  they  were  frightened,  not  at  the  boy's 
terrible  words,  but  at  his  terrible  audacity.  It  did  not 
seem  possible  that  any  living  creature  could  thus  beard 
Wolf  Larsen  in  his  teeth.  I  know  for  myself  that  I  was 
shocked  into  admiration  of  the  boy,  and  I  saw  in  him  the 
splendid  invincibleness  of  immortality  rising  above  the 
flesh  and  the  fears  of  the  flesh,  as  in  the  prophets  of  old, 
to  condemn  unrighteousness. 

And  such  condemnation !  He  haled  forth  Wolf  Larsen's 
soul  naked  to  the  scorn  of  men.  He  rained  upon  it  curses 
from  God  and  High  Heaven,  and  withered  it  with  a  heat  of 
invective  that  savored  of  a  mediaeval  excommunication  of 
the  Catholic  Church.  He  ran  the  gamut  of  denunciation, 
rising  to  heights  of  wrath  that  were  sublime  and  almost 
Godlike,  and  from  sheer  exhaustion  sinking  to  the  vilest 
and  most  indecent  abuse. 

His  rage  was  a  madness.  His  lips  were  flecked  with  a 
soapy  froth,  and  sometimes  he  choked  and  gurgled  and 
became  inarticulate.  And  through  it  all,  calm  and  im- 
passive, leaning  on  his  elbow  and  gazing  down,  Wolf  Larsen 
seemed  lost  in  a  great  curiosity.  This  wild  stirring  of 
yeasty  life,  this  terrific  revolt  and  defiance  of  matter  that 
moved,  perplexed  and  interested  him. 

Each  moment  I  looked,  and  everybody  looked,  for  him 


Il8  THE  SEA-WOLF 

to  leap  upon  the  boy  and  destroy  him.  But  it  was  not  his 
whim.  His  cigar  went  out,  and  he  continued  to  gaze 
silently  and  curiously. 

Leach  had  worked  himself  into  an  ecstasy  of  impotent 
rage. 

"  Pig !  Pig !  Pig !  "  he  was  reiterating  at  the  top  of  his 
lungs,  "  Why  don't  you  come  down  and  kill  me,  you 
murderer  ?  You  can  do  it !  I  ain't  afraid !  There's  no 
one  to  stop  you !  Damn  sight  better  dead  and  outa  your 
reach  than  alive  and  in  your  clutches !  Come  on,  you 
coward  !  Kill  me  !  Kill  me  !  Kill  me  !  " 

It  was  at  this  stage  that  Thomas  Mugridge's  erratic  soul 
brought  him  into  the  scene.  He  had  been  listening  at  the 
galley  door,  but  he  now  came  out,  ostensibly  to  fling  some 
scraps  over  the  side,  but  obviously  to  see  the  killing  he  was 
certain  would  take  place.  He  smirked  greasily  up  into  the 
face  of  Wolf  Larsen,  who  seemed  not  to  see  him.  But  the 
Cockney  was  unabashed,  though  mad,  stark  mad.  He 
turned  to  Leach,  saying  : 

"  Such  langwidge  !     Shockin' !  " 

Leach's  rage  was  no  longer  impotent.  Here  at  last  was 
something  ready  to  hand.  And  for  the  first  time  since  the 
stabbing  the  Cockney  had  appeared  outside  the  galley 
without  his  knife.  The  words  had  barely  left  his  mouth 
when  he  was  knocked  down  by  Leach.  Three  times  he 
struggled  to  his  feet,  striving  to  gain  the  galley,  and  each 
time  was  knocked  down. 

"Oh,  Lord!"  he  cried.  "  'Elp !  'Elp !  Tyke  'im 
aw'y,  carn't  yer  ?  Tyke  'im  aw'y  !  " 

The  hunters  laughed  from  sheer  relief.  Tragedy  had 
dwindled,  the  farce  had  begun.  The  sailors  now  crowded 
boldly  aft,  grinning  and  shuffling,  to  watch  the  pummelling 
of  the  hated  Cockney.  And  even  I  felt  a  great  joy  surge  up 


THE  SEA-WOLF  1 19 

within  me.  I  confess  that  I  delighted  in  this  beating  Leach 
was  giving  to  Thomas  Mugridge,  though  it  was  as  terrible, 
almost,  as  the  one  Mugridge  had  caused  to  be  given  to 
Johnson.  But  the  expression  of  Wolf  Larsen's  face  never 
changed.  He  did  not  change  his  position  either,  but  con- 
tinued to  gaze  down  with  a  great  curiosity.  For  all  his 
pragmatic  certitude,  it  seemed  as  if  he  watched  the  play 
and  movement  of  life  in  the  hope  of  discovering  something 
more  about  it,  of  discerning  in  its  maddest  writhings  a 
something  which  had  hitherto  escaped  him, — the  key  to  its 
mystery,  as  it  were,  which  would  make  all  clear  and  plain. 

But  the  beating !  It  was  quite  similar  to  the  one  I  had 
witnessed  in  the  cabin.  The  Cockney  strove  in  vain  to 
protect  himself  from  the  infuriated  boy.  And  in  vain  he 
strove  to  gain  the  shelter  of  the  cabin.  He  rolled  toward 
it,  grovelled  toward  it,  fell  toward  it  when  he  was  knocked 
down.  But  blow  followed  blow  with  bewildering  rapidity. 
He  was  knocked  about  like  a  shuttlecock,  until,  finally, 
like  Johnson,  he  was  beaten  and  kicked  as  he  lay  helpless 
on  the  deck.  And  no  one  interfered.  Leach  could  have 
killed  him,  but,  having  evidently  filled  the  measure  of  his 
vengeance,  he  drew  away  from  his  prostrate  foe,  who  was 
whimpering  and  wailing  in  a  puppyish  sort  of  way,  and 
walked  forward. 

But  these  two  affairs  were  only  the  opening  events  of  the 
day's  programme.  In  the  afternoon  Smoke  and  Hender- 
son fell  foul  of  each  other,  and  a  fusillade  of  shots  came 
up  from  the  steerage,  followed  by  a  stampede  of  the  other 
four  hunters  for  the  deck.  A  column  of  thick,  acrid 
smoke  —  the  kind  always  made  by  black  powder  —  was 
arising  through  the  open  companionway,  and  down 
through  it  leaped  Wolf  Larsen.  The  sound  of  blows 
and  scuffling  came  to  our  ears.  Both  men  were  wounded, 


I2O  THE  SEA-WOLF 

and  he  was  thrashing  them  both  for  having  disobeyed  his 
orders  and  crippled  themselves  in  advance  of  the  hunting 
season.  In  fact,  they  were  badly  wounded,  and,  having 
thrashed  them,  he  proceeded  to  operate  upon  them  in  a 
rough  surgical  fashion  and  to  dress  their  wounds.  I 
served  as  assistant  while  he  probed  and  cleansed  the 
passages  made  by  the  bullets,  and  I  saw  the  two  men 
endure  his  crude  surgery  without  anaesthetics  and  with  no 
more  to  uphold  them  than  a  stiff  tumbler  of  whiskey. 

Then,  in  the  first  dog-watch,  trouble  came  to  a  head  in 
the  forecastle.  It  took  its  rise  out  of  the  tittle-tattle  and 
tale-bearing  which  had  been  the  cause  of  Johnson's  beat- 
ing, and  from  the  noise  we  heard,  and  from  the  sight  of 
the  bruised  men  next  day,  it  was  patent  that  half  the 
forecastle  had  soundly  drubbed  the  other  half. 

The  second  dog-watch  and  the  day  were  wound  up  by 
a  fight  between  Johansen  and  the  lean,  Yankee-looking 
hunter,  Latimer.  It  was  caused  by  remarks  of  Latimer's 
concerning  the  noises  made  by  the  mate  in  his  sleep,  and 
though  Johansen  was  whipped,  he  kept  the  steerage  awake 
for  the  rest  of  the  night  while  he  blissfully  slumbered  and 
fought  the  fight  over  and  over  again. 

As  for  myself,  I  was  oppressed  with  nightmare.  The 
day  had  been  like  some  horrible  dream.  Brutality  had 
followed  brutality,  and  flaming  passions  and  cold-blooded 
cruelty  had  driven  men  to  seek  one  another's  lives,  and  to 
strive  to  hurt,  and  maim,  and  destroy.  My  nerves  were 
shocked.  My  mind  itself  was  shocked.  All  my  days  had 
been  passed  in  comparative  ignorance  of  the  animality  of 
man.  In  fact,  I  had  known  life  only  in  its  intellectual 
phases.  Brutality  I  had  experienced,  but  it  was  the  brutal- 
ity of  the  intellect  —  the  cutting  sarcasm  of  Charley 
Furuseth,  the  cruel  epigrams  and  occasional  harsh  witti- 


THE  SEA-WOLF  121 

cisms  of  the  fellows  at  the  Bibelot,  and  the  nasty  remarks 
of  some  of  the  professors  during  my  undergraduate  days. 

That  was  all.  But  that  men  should  wreak  their  anger 
on  others  by  the  bruising  of  the  flesh  and  the  letting  of 
blood  was  something  strangely  and  fearfully  new  to  me. 
Not  for  nothing  had  I  been  called  "  Sissy  "  Van  Weyden, 
I  thought,  as  I  tossed  restlessly  on  my  bunk  between  one 
nightmare  and  another.  And  it  seemed  to  me  that  my 
innocence  of  the  realities  of  life  had  been  complete  indeed. 
I  laughed  bitterly  to  myself,  and  seemed  to  find  in  Wolf 
Larsen's  forbidding  philosophy  a  more  adequate  explana- 
tion of  life  than  I  found  in  my  own. 

And  I  was  frightened  when  I  became  conscious  of  the 
trend  of  my  thought.  The  continual  brutality  around  me 
was  degenerative  in  its  effect.  It  bid  fair  to  destroy  for 
me  all  that  was  best  and  brightest  in  life.  My  reason 
dictated  that  the  beating  Thomas  Mugridge  had  received 
was  an  ill  thing,  and  yet  for  the  life  of  me  I  could  not  pre- 
vent my  soul  joying  in  it.  And  even  while  I  was  oppressed 
by  the  enormity  of  my  sin,  —  for  sin  it  was,  —  I  chuckled 
with  an  insane  delight.  I  was  no  longer  Humphrey  Van 
Weyden.  I  was  Hump,  cabin-boy  on  the  schooner  Ghost. 
Wolf  Larsen  was  my  captain,  Thomas  Mugridge  and  the 
rest  were  my  companions,  and  I  was  receiving  repeated 
impresses  from  the  die  which  had  stamped  them  all 


CHAPTER  XIII 

FOR  three  days  I  did  my  own  work  and  Thomas 
Mugridge's  too ;  and  I  flatter  myself  that  I  did  his  work 
well.  I  know  that  it  won  Wolf  Larsen's  approval,  while 
the  sailors  beamed  with  satisfaction  during  the  brief  time 
my  regime  lasted. 

"  The  first  clean  bite  since  I  come  aboard,"  Harrison 
said  to  me  at  the  galley  door,  as  he  returned  the  dinner 
pots  and  pans  from  the  forecastle.  "  Somehow  Tommy's 
grub  always  tastes  of  grease,  stale  grease,  and  I  reckon  he 
ain't  changed  his  shirt  since  he  left  'Frisco." 

"  I  know  he  hasn't,"  I  answered. 

"And  I'll  bet  he  sleeps  in  it,"  Harrison  added. 

"  And  you  won't  lose,"  I  agreed.  "  The  same  shirt,  and 
he  hasn't  had  it  off  once  in  all  this  time." 

But  three  days  was  all  Wolf  Larsen  allowed  him  in 
which  to  recover  from  the  effects  of  the  beating.  On  the 
fourth  day,  lame  and  sore,  scarcely  able  to  see,  so  closed 
were  his  eyes,  he  was  haled  from  his  bunk  by  the  nape  of 
the  neck  and  set  to  his  duty.  He  sniffled  and  wept,  but 
Wolf  Larsen  was  pitiless. 

"  And  see  that  you  serve  no  more  slops,"  was  his  parting 
injunction.  "  No  more  grease  and  dirt,  mind,  and  a  clean 
shirt  occasionally,  or  you'll  get  a  tow  over  the  side. 
Understand  ? " 

Thomas  Mugridge  crawled  weakly  across  the  galley 
floor,  and  a  short  lurch  of  the  Ghost  sent  him  staggering. 
In  attempting  to  recover  himself,  he  reached  for  the  iron 

122 


THE  SEA- WOLF  123 

railing  which  surrounded  the  stove  and  kept  the  pots  from 
sliding  off ;  but  he  missed  the  railing,  and  his  hand,  with 
his  weight  behind  it,  landed  squarely  on  the  hot  surface. 
There  was  a  sizzle  and  odor  of  burning  flesh,  and  a  sharp 
cry  of  pain. 

"  Oh,  Gawd,  Gawd,  wot  'ave  I  done  ? "  he  wailed,  sitting 
down  in  the  coal-box  and  nursing  his  new  hurt  by  rocking 
back  and  forth.  "  W'y  'as  all  this  come  on  me  ?  It  mykes 
me  fair  sick,  it  does,  an'  I  try  so  'ard  to  go  through  life 
'armless  an'  'urtin'  nobody." 

The  tears  were  running  down  his  puffed  and  discolored 
cheeks,  and  his  face  was  drawn  with  pain.  A  savage 
expression  flitted  across  it. 

"  Oh,  'ow  I  'ate  'im  !    'Ow  I  'ate  'im  !  "  he  gritted  out. 

"Whom?"  I  asked;  but  the  poor  wretch  was  weeping 
again  over  his  misfortunes.  Less  difficult  it  was  to  guess 
whom  he  hated  than  whom  he  did  not  hate.  For  I  had 
come  to  see  a  malignant  devil  in  him  which  impelled  him 
to  hate  all  the  world.  I  sometimes  thought  that  he  hated 
even  himself,  so  grotesquely  had  life  dealt  with  him,  and 
so  monstrously.  At  such  moments  a  great  sympathy 
welled  up  within  me,  and  I  felt  shame  that  I  had  ever 
joyed  in  his  discomfiture  or  pain.  Life  had  been  unfair 
to  him.  It  had  played  him  a  scurvy  trick  when  it  fash- 
ioned him  into  the  thing  he  was,  and  it  had  played  him 
scurvy  tricks  ever  since.  What  chance  had  he  to  be  any- 
thing else  than  he  was?  And  as  though  answering  my 
unspoken  thought,  he  wailed : 

"  I  never  'ad  no  chance,  nor  'arf  a  chance !  'Oo  was 
there  to  send  me  to  school,  or  put  tommy  in  my  'ungry 
belly,  or  wipe  my  bloody  nose  for  me,  w'en  I  was  a  kiddy  > 
'Oo  ever  did  anything  for  me,  heh  ?  'Oo,  I  s'y  ? " 

"  Never  mind,  Tommy,"  I  said,  placing  a  soothing  hand 


124  THE  SEA-WOLF 

on  his  shoulder.  "  Cheer  up.  It'll  all  come  right  in  the 
end.  You've  long  years  before  you,  and  you  can  make 
anything  you  please  of  yourself." 

"  It's  a  lie !  a  bloody  lie !  "  he  shouted  in  my  face,  fling- 
ing off  the  hand.  "  It's  a  lie,  and  you  know  it.  I'm  already 
myde,  an'  myde  out  of  leavin's  an'  scraps.  It's  all  right 
for  you,  'Ump.  You  was  born  a  gentleman.  You  never 
knew  wot  it  was  to  go  'ungry,  to  cry  yerself  asleep  with 
yer  little  belly  gnawin'  an'  gnawin',  like  a  rat  inside  yer. 
It  carn't  come  right.  If  I  was  President  of  the  United 
Stytes  to-morrer,  'ow  would  it  fill  my  belly  for  one  time 
w'en  I  was  a  kiddy  and  it  went  empty  ? 

"  'Ow  could  it,  I  s'y  ?  I  was  born  to  sufferin'  and 
sorrer.  I've  'ad  more  cruel  sufferin'  than  any  ten  men, 
I  'ave.  I've  been  in  orspital  arf  my  bleedin'  life.  I've 
'ad  the  fever  in  Aspinwall,  in  'Avana,  in  New  Orleans. 
I  near  died  of  the  scurvy  and  was  rotten  with  it  six  months 
in  Barbadoes.  Smallpox  in  'Onolulu,  two  broken  legs  in 
Shanghai,  pneumonia  in  Unalaska,  three  busted  ribs  an' 
my  insides  all  twisted  in  'Frisco.  An'  'ere  I  am  now. 
Look  at  me !  Look  at  me !  My  ribs  kicked  loose  from 
my  back  again.  I'll  be  coughin'  blood  before  eyght  bells. 
'Ow  can  it  be  myde  up  to  me,  I  arsk  ?  'Oo's  goin'  to  do 
it  ?  Gawd  ?  'Ow  Gawd  must  'ave  'ated  me  w'en  'e  signed 
me  on  for  a  voyage  in  this  bloomin'  world  of  'is ! " 

This  tirade  against  destiny  went  on  for  an  hour  or  more, 
and  then  he  buckled  to  his  work,  limping  and  groaning, 
and  in  his  eyes  a  great  hatred  for  all  created  things.  His 
diagnosis  was  correct,  however,  for  he  was  seized  with 
occasional  sicknesses,  during  which  he  vomited  blood  and 
suffered  great  pain.  And  as  he  said,  it  seemed  God  hated 
him  too  much  to  let  him  die,  for  he  ultimately  grew  better 
and  waxed  more  malignant  than  ever. 


THE  SEA-WOLF  125 

Several  days  more  passed  before  Johnson  crawled  on 
deck  and  went  about  his  work  in  a  half-hearted  way. 
He  was  still  a  sick  man,  and  I  more  than  once  observed 
him  creeping  painfully  aloft  to  a  topsail,  or  drooping 
wearily  as  he  stood  at  the  wheel.  But,  still  worse,  it 
seemed  that  his  spirit  was  broken.  He  was  abject  before 
Wolf  Larsen  and  almost  grovelled  to  Johansen.  Not  so 
was  the  conduct  of  Leach.  He  went  about  the  deck  like 
a  tiger  cub,  glaring  his  hatred  openly  at  Wolf  Larsen  and 
Johansen. 

"I'll  do  for  you  yet,  you  slab-footed  Swede,"  I  heard 
him  say  to  Johansen  one  night  on  deck. 

The  mate  cursed  him  in  the  darkness,  and  the  next 
moment  some  missile  struck  the  galley  a  sharp  rap. 
There  was  more  cursing,  and  a  mocking  laugh,  and  when 
all  was  quiet  I  stole  outside  and  found  a  heavy  knife 
imbedded  over  an  inch  in  the  solid  wood.  A  few  minutes 
later  the  mate  came  fumbling  about  in  search  of  it,  but  I 
returned  it  privily  to  Leach  next  day.  He  grinned  when 
I  handed  it  over,  yet  it  was  a  grin  that  contained  more 
sincere  thanks  than  a  multitude  of  the  verbosities  of  speech 
common  to  the  members  of  my  own  class. 

Unlike  any  one  else  in  the  ship's  company,  I  now  found 
myself  with  no  quarrels  on  my  hands  and  in  the  good 
graces  of  all.  The  hunters  possibly  no  more  than  toler- 
ated me,  though  none  of  them  disliked  me ;  while  Smoke 
and  Henderson,  convalescent  under  a  deck  awning  and 
swinging  day  and  night  in  their  hammocks,  assured  me 
that  I  was  better  than  any  hospital  nurse  and  that  they 
would  not  forget  me  at  the  end  of  the  voyage  when  they 
were  paid  off.  (As  though  I  stood  in  need  of  their  money  ! 
I,  who  could  have  bought  them  out,  bag  and  baggage,  and 
the  schooner  and  its  equipment,  a  score  of  times  over!) 


126  THE  SEA- WOLF 

But  upon  me  had  devolved  the  task  of  tending  their 
wounds,  and  pulling  them  through,  and  I  did  my  best 
by  them. 

Wolf  Larsen  underwent  another  bad  attack  of  head- 
ache which  lasted  two  days.  He  must  have  suffered 
severely,  for  he  called  me  in,  and  obeyed  my  commands 
like  a  sick  child.  But  nothing  I  could  do  seemed  to  relieve 
him.  At  my  suggestion,  however,  he  gave  up  smoking 
and  drinking;  though  why  such  a  magnificent  animal  as 
he  should  have  headaches  at  all  puzzles  me. 

"  'Tis  the  hand  of  God,  I'm  tellin'  you,"  is  the  way  Louis 
sees  it.  "  Tis  a  visitation  for  his  black-hearted  deeds,  and 
there's  more  behind  and  comin',  or  else  —  " 

"  Or  else,"  I  prompted. 

"  God  is  noddin'  and  not  doin'  his  duty,  though  it's  me 
as  shouldn't  say  it." 

I  was  mistaken  when  I  said  that  I  was  in  the  good 
graces  of  all.  Not  only  does  Thomas  Mugridge  continue 
to  hate  me,  but  he  has  discovered  a  new  reason  for  hating 
me.  It  took  me  no  little  while  to  puzzle  it  out,  but  I 
finally  discovered  that  it  was  because  I  was  more  luckily 
born  than  he  —  "  gentleman  born,"  he  put  it. 

"  And  still  no  more  dead  men,"  I  twitted  Louis,  when 
Smoke  and  Henderson,  side  by  side,  in  friendly  conversa- 
tion, took  their  first  exercise  on  deck. 

Louis  surveyed  me  with  his  shrewd  gray  eyes  and  shook 
his  head  portentously.  "  She's  a-comin',  I  tell  you,  and 
it'll  be  sheets  and  halyards,  stand  by  all  hands,  when  she 
begins  to  howl.  I've  had  the  feel  iv  it  this  long  time,  and 
I  can  feel  it  now  as  plainly  as  I  feel  the  rigging  iv  a  dark 
night.  She's  close,  she's  close." 

"Who  goes  first?"  I  queried. 

"  Not  old  fat  Louis,  I  promise  you,"  he  laughed.     "  For 


THE  SEA-WOLF  127 

'tis  in  the  bones  iv  me  I  know  that  come  this  time  next 
year  I'll  be  gazin'  in  the  old  mother's  eyes,  weary  with 
watchin'  iv  the  sea  for  the  five  sons  she  gave  to  it." 

"Wot's  'e  been  s'yin'  to  yer  ? "  Thomas  Mugridge 
demanded  a  moment  later. 

"  That  he's  going  home  some  day  to  see  his  mother,"  I 
answered  diplomatically. 

"  I  never  'ad  none,"  was  the  Cockney's  comment,  as  he 
gazed  with  lustreless,  hopeless  eyes  into  mine. 


CHAPTER   XIV 

IT  has  dawned  upon  me  that  I  have  never  placed  a 
proper  valuation  upon  womankind.  For  that  matter,  though 
not  amative  to  any  considerable  degree  so  far  as  I  have 
discovered,  I  was  never  outside  the  atmosphere  of  women 
until  now.  My  mother  and  sisters  were  always  about  me, 
and  I  was  always  trying  to  escape  them ;  for  they  worried 
me  to  distraction  with  their  solicitude  for  my  health  and 
with  their  periodic  inroads  on  my  den,  when  my  orderly 
confusion,  upon  which  I  prided  myself,  was  turned  into 
worse  confusion  and  less  order,  though  it  looked  neat 
enough  to  the  eye.  I  never  could  find  anything  when 
they  had  departed.  But  now,  alas,  how  welcome  would 
have  been  the  feel  of  their  presence,  the  frou-frou  and 
swish-swish  of  their  skirts  which  I  had  so  cordially 
detested!  I  am  sure,  if  I  ever  get  home,  that  I  shall 
never  be  irritable  with  them  again.  They  may  dose  me 
and  doctor  me  morning,  noon,  and  night,  and  dust  and 
sweep  and  put  my  den  to  rights  every  minute  of  the  day, 
and  I  shall  only  lean  back  and  survey  it  all  and  be  thank- 
ful in  that  I  am  possessed  of  a  mother  and  some  several 
sisters. 

All  of  which  has  set  me  wondering.  Where  are  the 
mothers  of  these  twenty  and  odd  men  on  the  Ghost?  It 
strikes  me  as  unnatural  and  unhealthful  that  men  should 
be  totally  separated  from  women  and  herd  through  the 
world  by  themselves.  Coarseness  and  savagery  are  the 
inevitable  results.  These  men  about  me  should  have 


THE  SEA-WOLF  1 29 

wives,  and  sisters,  and  daughters;  then  would  they  be 
capable  of  softness,  and  tenderness,  and  sympathy.  As  it 
is,  not  one  of  them  is  married.  In  years  and  years  not 
one  of  them  has  been  in  contact  with  a  good  woman,  or 
within  the  influence,  or  redemption,  which  irresistibly  radi- 
ates from  such  a  creature.  There  is  no  balance  in  their 
lives.  Their  masculinity,  which  in  itself  is  of  the  brute, 
has  been  overdeveloped.  The  other  and  spiritual  side  of 
their  natures  has  been  dwarfed  —  atrophied,  in  fact. 

They  are  a  company  of  celibates,  grinding  harshly 
against  one  another  and  growing  daily  more  calloused 
from  the  grinding.  It  seems  to  me  impossible  sometimes 
that  they  ever  had  mothers.  It  would  appear  that  they 
are  a  half-brute,  half-human  species,  a  race  apart,  wherein 
there  is  no  such  thing  as  sex ;  that  they  are  hatched  out  by 
the  sun  like  turtle  eggs,  or  receive  life  in  some  similar  and 
sordid  fashion ;  and  that  all  their  days  they  fester  in  bru- 
tality and  viciousness  and  in  the  end  die  as  unlovely  as 
they  have  lived. 

Rendered  curious  by  this  new  direction  of  ideas,  I 
talked  with  Johansen  last  night  —  the  first  superfluous 
words  with  which  he  has  favored  me  since  the  voyage 
began.  He  left  Sweden  when  he  was  eighteen,  is  now 
thirty-eight,  and  in  all  the  intervening  time  has  not  been 
home  once.  He  had  met  a  townsman,  a  couple  of  years 
before,  in  some  sailor  boarding-house  in  Chile,  so  that  he 
knew  his  mother  to  be  still  alive. 

"  She  must  be  a  pretty  old  woman,  now,"  he  said,  staring 
meditatively  into  the  binnacle  and  then  jerking  a  sharp 
glance  at  Harrison,  who  was  steering  a  point  off  the  course. 

"  When  did  you  last  write  to  her? " 

He  performed  his  mental  arithmetic  aloud.  "  Eighty- 
one  ;  no  —  eighty-two,  eh  ?  no  —  eighty-three  ?  Yesc 


130  THE  SEA-WOLF 

eighty-three.  Ten  years  ago.  From  some  little  port  in 
Madagascar.  I  was  trading. 

"You  see,"  he  went  on,  as  though  addressing  his  neg- 
lected mother  across  half  the  girth  of  the  earth,  "  each 
year  I  was  going  home.  So  what  was  the  good  to  write  ? 
It  was  only  a  year.  And  each  year  something  happened, 
and  I  did  not  go.  But  I  am  mate,  now,  and  when  I  pay 
off  at  'Frisco,  maybe  with  five  hundred  dollars,  I  will  ship 
myself  on  a  wind-jammer  round  the  Horn  to  Liverpool, 
which  will  give  me  more  money ;  and  then  I  will  pay  my 
passage  from  there  home.  Then  she  will  not  do  any  more 
work." 

"  But  does  she  work  ?  now  ?    How  old  is  she  ?  " 

"  About  seventy,"  he  answered.  And  then,  boastingly, 
"  We  work  from  the  time  we  are  born  until  we  die,  in  my 
country.  That's  why  we  live  so  long.  I  will  live  to  a 
hundred." 

I  shall  never  forget  this  conversation.  The  words  were 
the  last  I  ever  heard  him  utter.  Perhaps  they  were  the 
last  he  did  utter,  too.  For,  going  down  into  the  cabin  to 
turn  in,  I  decided  that  it  was  too  stuffy  to  sleep  below.  It 
was  a  calm  night.  We  were  out  of  the  Trades,  and  the 
Ghost  was  forging  ahead  barely  a  knot  an  hour.  So  I 
tucked  a  blanket  and  pillow  under  my  arm  and  went  up 
on  deck. 

As  I  passed  between  Harrison  and  the  binnacle,  which 
was  built  into  the  top  of  the  cabin,  I  noticed  that  he  was 
this  time  fully  three  points  off.  Thinking  that  he  was 
asleep,  and  wishing  him  to  escape  reprimand  or  worse,  I 
spoke  to  him.  But  he  was  not  asleep.  His  eyes  were  wide 
and  staring.  He  seemed  greatly  perturbed,  unable  to 
reply  to  me. 

"  What's  the  matter  ? "  I  asked.     "  Are  you  sick  ?  " 


THE  SEA-WOLF  131 

He  shook  his  head,  and  with  a  deep  sigh,  as  of  awaken- 
ing,  caught  his  breath. 

"  You'd  better  get  on  your  course,  then,"  I  chided. 

He  put  a  few  spokes  over,  and  I  watched  the  compass- 
card  swing  slowly  to  N  N  W  and  steady  itself  with  slight 
oscillations. 

I  took  a  fresh  hold  on  my  bedclothes  and  was  preparing 
to  start  on,  when  some  movement  caught  my  eye  and  I 
looked  astern  to  the  rail.  A  sinewy  hand,  dripping  with 
water,  was  clutching  the  rail.  A  second  hand  took  form 
in  the  darkness  beside  it.  I  watched,  fascinated.  What 
visitant  from  the  gloom  of  the  deep  was  I  to  behold? 
Whatever  it  was,  I  knew  that  it  was  climbing  aboard  by 
the  log-line.  I  saw  a  head,  the  hair  wet  and  straight, 
shape  itself,  and  then  the  unmistakable  eyes  and  face  of 
Wolf  Larsen.  His  right  cheek  was  red  with  blood,  which 
flowed  from  some  wound  in  the  head. 

He  drew  himself  inboard  with  a  quick  effort,  and  arose 
to  his  feet,  glancing  swiftly,  as  he  did  so,  at  the  man  at 
the  wheel,  as  though  to  assure  himself  of  his  identity 
and  that  there  was  nothing  to  fear  from  him.  The  sea- 
water  was  streaming  from  him.  It  made  little  audible 
gurgles  which  distracted  me.  As  he  stepped  toward  me  I 
shrank  back  instinctively,  for  I  saw  that  in  his  eyes  which 
spelled  death. 

"  All  right,  Hump,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice.  "  Where's 
the  mate  ? " 

I  shook  my  head. 

"  Johansen  !  "  he  called  softly.     "  Johansen ! " 

"Where  is  he ? "  he  demanded  of  Harrison. 

The  young  fellow  seemed  to  have  recovered  his  com- 
posure, for  he  answered  steadily  enough,  "  I  don't  know, 
sir.  I  saw  him  go  for'ard  a  little  while  ago." 


132  THE  SEA-WOLF 

"  So  did  I  go  for'ard.  But  you  will  observe  that  I 
didn't  come  back  the  way  I  went.  Can  you  explain  it  ? " 

"  You  must  have  been  overboard,  sir." 

"  Shall  I  look  for  him  in  the  steerage,  sir  ? "  I  asked. 

Wolf  Larsen  shook  his  head.  "  You  wouldn't  find  him, 
Hump.  But  you'll  do.  Come  on.  Never  mind  your 
bedding.  Leave  it  where  it  is." 

I  followed  at  his  heels.  There  was  nothing  stirring 
amidships. 

"  Those  cursed  hunters,"  was  his  comment.  "  Too 
damned  fat  and  lazy  to  stand  a  four-hour  watch." 

But  on  the  forecastle-head  we  found  three  sailors  asleep. 
He  turned  them  over  and  looked  at  their  faces.  They 
composed  the  watch  on  deck,  and  it  was  the  ship's  custom, 
in  good  weather,  to  let  the  watch  sleep  with  the  exception 
of  the  officer,  the  helmsman,  and  the  look-out. 

"  Who's  look-out  ? "  he  demanded. 

"  Me,  sir,"  answered  Holyoak,  one  of  the  deep-water 
sailors,  a  slight  tremor  in  his  voice.  "  I  winked  off  just  this 
very  minute,  sir.  I'm  sorry,  sir.  It  won't  happen  again." 

"  Did  you  hear  or  see  anything  on  deck  ? " 

"No,  sir,  I  —  " 

But  Wolf  Larsen  had  turned  away  with  a  snort  of  dis- 
gust, leaving  the  sailor  rubbing  his  eyes  with  surprise  at 
having  been  let  off  so  easily. 

"  Softly,  now,"  Wolf  Larsen  warned  me  in  a  whisper, 
as  he  doubled  his  body  into  the  forecastle  scuttle  and 
prepared  to  descend. 

I  followed  with  a  quaking  heart.  What  was  to  happen 
I  knew  no  more  than  did  I  know  what  had  happened. 
But  blood  had  been  shed,  and  it  was  through  no  whim  of 
Wolf  Larsen  that  he  had  gone  over  the  side  with  his  scalp 
laid  open.  Besides,  Johansen  was  missing. 


THE  SEA-WOLF  133 

It  was  my  first  descent  into  the  forecastle,  and  I  shall 
not  soon  forget  my  impression  of  it,  caught  as  I  stood  on 
my  feet  at  the  bottom  of  the  ladder.  Built  directly  in  the 
eyes  of  the  schooner,  it  was  of  the  shape  of  a  triangle,  along 
the  three  sides  of  which  stood  the  bunks,  in  double-tier, 
twelve  of  them.  It  was  no  larger  than  a  hall  bedroom  in 
Grub  Street,  and  yet  twelve  men  were  herded  into  it  to  eat 
and  sleep  and  carry  on  all  the  functions  of  living.  My 
bedroom  at  home  was  not  large,  yet  it  could  have  contained 
a  dozen  similar  forecastles,  and  taking  into  consideration 
the  height  of  the  ceiling,  a  score  at  least. 

It  smelled  sour  and  musty,  and  by  the  dim  light  of  the 
swinging  sea-lamp  I  saw  every  bit  of  available  wall-space 
hung  deep  with  sea^boots,  oilskins,  and  garments,  clean 
and  dirty,  of  various  sorts.  These  swung  back  and  forth 
with  every  roll  of  the  vessel,  giving  rise  to  a  brushing 
sound,  as  of  trees  against  a  roof  or  wall.  Somewhere  a 
boot  thumped  loudly  and  at  irregular  intervals  against  the 
wall;  and,  though  it  was  a  mild  night  on  the  sea,  there 
was  a  continual  chorus  of  the  creaking  timbers  and  bulk- 
heads and  of  abysmal  noises  beneath  the  flooring. 

The  sleepers  did  not  mind.  There  were  eight  of  them, 
—  the  two  watches  below,  —  and  the  air  was  thick  with  the 
warmth  and  odor  of  their  breathing,  and  the  ear  was  filled 
with  the  noise  of  their  snoring  and  of  their  sighs  and 
half-groans,  tokens  plain  of  the  rest  of  the  animal-man. 
But  were  they  sleeping?  all  of  them?  Or  had  they  been 
sleeping?  This  was  evidently  Wolf  Larsen's  quest  —  to 
find  the  men  who  appeared  to  be  asleep  and  who  were 
not  asleep  or  who  had  not  been  asleep  very  recently. 
And  he  went  about  it  in  a  way  that  reminded  me  of  a 
story  out  of  Boccaccio. 

He   took   the   sea-lamp  from   its   swinging  frame   and 


134  THE  SEA-WOLF 

handed  it  to  me.  He  began  at  the  first  bunks  forward  on 
the  starboard  side.  In  the  top  one  lay  Oofty-Oofty,  a 
Kanaka  and  splendid  seaman,  so  named  by  his  mates. 
He  was  asleep  on  his  back  and  breathing  as  placidly  as  a 
woman.  One  arm  was  under  his  head,  the  other  lay  on 
top  of  the  blankets.  Wolf  Larsen  put  thumb  and  fore- 
finger to  the  wrist  and  counted  the  pulse.  In  the  midst 
of  it  the  Kanaka  roused.  He  awoke  as  gently  as  he  slept. 
There  was  no  movement  of  the  body  whatever.  The  eyes, 
only,  moved.  They  flashed  wide  open,  big  and  black,  and 
stared,  unblinking,  into  our  faces.  Wolf  Larsen  put  his 
finger  to  his  lips  as  a  sign  for  silence,  and  the  eyes  closed 
again. 

In  the  lower  bunk  lay  Louis,  grossly  fat  and  warm  and 
sweaty,  asleep  unfeignedly  and  sleeping  laboriously. 
While  Wolf  Larsen  held  his  wrist  he  stirred  uneasily, 
bowing  his  body  so  that  for  a  moment  it  rested  on  shoul- 
ders and  heels.  His  lips  moved,  and  he  gave  voice  to  this 
enigmatic  utterance : 

"  A  shilling's  worth  a  quarter ;  but  keep  your  lamps  out 
for  thruppenny  bits,  or  the  publicans'll  shove  'em  on  you 
for  sixpence." 

Then  he  rolled  over  on  his  side  with  a  heavy,  sobbing 
sigh,  saying: 

"  A  sixpence  is  a  tanner,  and  a  shilling  a  bob ;  but  what 
a  pony  is  I  don't  know." 

Satisfied  with  the  honesty  of  his  and  the  Kanaka's 
sleep,  Wolf  Larsen  passed  on  to  the  next  two  bunks  on 
the  starboard  side,  occupied  top  and  bottom,  as  we  saw  in 
the  light  of  the  sea-lamp,  by  Leach  and  Johnson. 

As  Wolf  Larsen  bent  down  to  the  lower  bunk  to  take 
Johnson's  pulse,  I,  standing  erect  and  holding  the  lamp, 
saw  Leach's  head  raise  stealthily  as  he  peered  over  the 


THE  SEA- WOLF  135 

side  of  his  bunk  to  see  what  was  going  on.  He  must  have 
divined  Wolf  Larsen's  trick  and  the  sureness  of  detection, 
for  the  light  was  at  once  dashed  from  my  hand  and  the 
forecastle  left  in  darkness.  He  must  have  leaped,  also,  at 
the  same  instant,  straight  down  on  Wolf  Larsen. 

The  first  sounds  were  those  of  a  conflict  between  a  bull 
and  a  wolf.  I  heard  a  great  infuriated  bellow  go  up  from 
Wolf  Larsen,  and  from  Leach  a  snarling  that  was  desper- 
ate and  blood-curdling.  Johnson  must  have  joined  him 
immediately,  so  that  his  abject  and  grovelling  conduct  on 
deck  for  the  past  few  days  had  been  no  more  than  planned 
deception. 

I  was  so  terror-stricken  by  this  fight  in  the  dark  that  I 
leaned  against  the  ladder,  trembling  and  unable  to  ascend. 
And  upon  me  was  that  old  sickness  at  the  pit  of  the  stom- 
ach, caused  always  by  the  spectacle  of  physical  violence. 
In  this  instance  I  could  not  see,  but  I  could  hear  the  impact 
of  the  blows — the  soft  crushing  sound  made  by  flesh  strik- 
ing forcibly  against  flesh.  Then  there  was  the  crashing 
about  of  the  entwined  bodies,  the  labored  breathing,  the 
short,  quick  gasps  of  sudden  pain. 

There  must  have  been  more  men  in  the  conspiracy  to 
murder  the  captain  and  mate,  for  by  the  sounds  I  knew 
that  Leach  and  Johnson  had  been  quickly  reinforced  by 
some  of  their  mates. 

"  Get  a  knife,  somebody ! "  Leach  was  shouting. 

"  Pound  him  on  the  head  !  Mash  his  brains  out !  "  was 
Johnson's  cry. 

But  after  his  first  bellow,  Wolf  Larsen  made  no  noise. 
He  was  fighting  grimly  and  silently  for  life.  He  was 
sore  beset.  Down  at  the  very  first,  he  had  been  unable 
to  gain  his  feet,  and  for  all  of  his  tremendous  strength  I 
felt  that  there  was  no  hope  for  him. 


136  THE  SEA-WOLF 

The  force  with  which  they  struggled  was  vividly  im- 
pressed on  me ;  for  I  was  knocked  down  by  their  surging 
bodies  and  badly  bruised.  But  in  the  confusion  I  managed 
to  crawl  into  an  empty  lower  bunk  out  of  the  way. 

"  All  hands !  We've  got  him  !  We've  got  him  !  "  I 
could  hear  Leach  crying. 

"Who?"  demanded  those  who  had  been  really  asleep, 
and  who  had  wakened  to  they  knew  not  what. 

"  It's  the  bloody  mate !  "  was  Leach's  crafty  answer, 
strained  from  him  in  a  smothered  sort  of  way. 

This  was  greeted  with  whoops  of  joy,  and  from  then  on 
Wolf  Larsen  had  seven  strong  men  on  top  of  him,  Louis, 
I  believe,  taking  no  part  in  it.  The  forecastle  was  like  an 
angry  hive  of  bees  aroused  by  some  marauder. 

"  What  ho !  below  there  !  "  I  heard  Latimer  shout  down 
the  scuttle,  too  cautious  to  descend  into  the  inferno  of  pas- 
sion he  could  hear  raging  beneath  him  in  the  darkness. 

"  Won't  somebody  get  a  knife  ?  Oh,  won't  somebody 
get  a  knife  ? "  Leach  pleaded  in  the  first  interval  of  com- 
parative silence. 

The  number  of  the  assailants  was  a  cause  of  confusion. 
They  blocked  their  own  efforts,  while  Wolf  Larsen,  with 
but  a  single  purpose,  achieved  his.  This  was  to  fight  his 
way  across  the  floor  to  the  ladder.  Though  in  total  dark- 
ness, I  followed  his  progress  by  its  sound.  No  man  less 
than  a  giant  could  have  done  what  he  did,  once  he  had 
gained  the  foot  of  the  ladder.  Step  by  step,  by  the  might 
of  his  arms,  the  whole  pack  of  men  striving  to  drag  him 
back  and  down,  he  drew  his  body  up  from .  the  floor  till 
he  stood  erect.  And  then,  step  by  step,  hand  and  foot,  he 
slowly  struggled  up  the  ladder. 

The  very  last  of  all,  I  saw.  For  Latimer,  having  finally 
gone  for  a  lantern,  held  it  so  that  its  light  shone  down  the 


THE  SEA-WOLF  137 

scuttle.  Wolf  Larsen  was  nearly  to  the  top,  though  I  could 
not  see  him.  All  that  was  visible  was  the  mass  of  men 
fastened  upon  him.  It  squirmed  about,  like  some  huge 
many-legged  spider,  and  swayed  back  and  forth  to  the 
regular  roll  of  the  vessel.  And  still,  step  by  step,  with 
long  intervals  between,  the  mass  ascended.  Once  it  tot- 
tered, about  to  fall  back,  but  the  broken  hold  was  regained 
and  it  still  went  up. 

"  Who  is  it  ? "  Latimer  cried. 

In  the  rays  of  the  lantern  I  could  see  his  perplexed  face 
peering  down. 

"  Larsen,"  I  heard  a  muffled  voice  from  within  the  mass0 

Latimer  reached  down  with  his  free  hand.  I  saw  a 
hand  shoot  up  to  clasp  his.  Latimer  pulled,  and  the  next 
couple  of  steps  were  made  with  a  rush.  Then  Wolf  Lar- 
sen's  other  hand  reached  up  and  clutched  the  edge  of  the 
scuttle.  The  mass  swung  clear  of  the  ladder,  the  men  still 
clinging  to  their  escaping  foe.  They  began  to  drop  off,  to 
be  brushed  off  against  the  sharp  edge  of  the  scuttle,  to 
be  knocked  off  by  the  legs  which  were  now  kicking  power- 
fully. Leach  was  the  last  to  go,  falling  sheer  back  from 
the  top  of  the  scuttle  and  striking  on  head  and  shoulders 
upon  his  sprawling  mates  beneath.  Wolf  Larsen  and  the 
lantern  disappeared,  and  we  were  left  in  darkness- 


CHAPTER  XV 

THERE  was  a  deal  of  cursing  and  groaning  as  the  men  at 
the  bottom  of  the  ladder  crawled  to  their  feet. 

"Somebody  strike  a  light,  my  thumb's  out  of  joint," 
said  one  of  the  men,  Parsons,  a  swarthy,  saturnine  man, 
boat-steerer  in  Standish's  boat,  in  which  Harrison  was 
puller. 

"  You'll  find  it  knockin'  about  by  the  bitts,"  Leach  said, 
sitting  down  on  the  edge  of  the  bunk  in  which  I  was 
concealed. 

There  was  a  fumbling  and  a  scratching  of  matches,  and 
the  sea-lamp  flared  up,  dim  and  smoky,  and  in  its  weird 
light  bare-legged  men  moved  about,  nursing  their  bruises 
and  caring  for  their  hurts.  Oofty-Oofty  laid  hold  of  Par- 
sons's  thumb,  pulling  it  out  stoutly  and  snapping  it  back 
into  place.  I  noticed  at  the  same  time  that  the  Kanaka's 
knuckles  were  laid  open  clear  across  and  to  the  bone.  He 
exhibited  them,  exposing  beautiful  white  teeth  in  a  grin  as 
he  did  so  and  explaining  that  the  wounds  had  come  from 
striking  Wolf  Larsen  in  the  mouth. 

"  So  it  was  you,  was  it,  you  black  beggar  ? "  belligerently 
demanded  one,  Kelly,  an  Irish- American  and  a  longshore- 
man, making  his  first  trip  to  sea,  and  boat-puller  for 
Kerfoot. 

As  he  made  the  demand  he  spat  out  a  mouthful  of  blood 
and  teeth  and  shoved  his  pugnacious  face  close  to  Oofty- 
Oofty.  The  Kanaka  leaped  backward  to  his  bunk,  to 
return  with  a  second  leap,  flourishing  a  long  knife. 

138 


THE  SEA-WOLF  139 

"Aw,  go  lay  down,  you  make  me  tired,"  Leach  inter- 
fered. He  was  evidently,  for  all  of  his  youth  and  inex- 
perience, cock  of  the  forecastle.  "  G'wan,  you  Kelly. 
You  leave  Oofty  alone.  How  in  hell  did  he  know  it  was 
you  in  the  dark  ?  " 

Kelly  subsided  with  some  muttering,  and  the  Kanaka 
flashed  his  white  teeth  in  a  grateful  smile.  He  was  a 
beautiful  creature,  almost  feminine  in  the  pleasing  lines 
of  his  figure,  and  there  was  a  softness  and  dreaminess  in 
his  large  eyes  which  seemed  to  contradict  his  well-earned 
reputation  for  strife  and  action. 

"  How  did  he  get  away  ? "  Johnson  asked. 

He  was  sitting  on  the  side  of  his  bunk,  the  whole  pose 
of  his  figure  indicating  utter  dejection  and  hopelessness. 
He  was  still  breathing  heavily  from  the  exertion  he  had 
made.  His  shirt  had  been  ripped  entirely  from  him  in  the 
struggle,  and  blood  from  a  gash  in  the  cheek  was  flowing 
down  his  naked  chest,  marking  a  red  path  across  his  white 
thigh  and  dripping  to  the  floor. 

"  Because  he  is  the  devil,  as  I  told  you  before,"  was 
Leach's  answer ;  and  thereat  he  was  on  his  feet  and  rag- 
ing his  disappointment  with  tears  in  his  eyes. 

"  And  not  one  of  you  to  get  a  knife !  "  was  his  unceasing 
lament. 

But  the  rest  of  the  hands  had  a  lively  fear  of  conse- 
quences to  come  and  gave  no  heed  to  him. 

"  How'll  he  know  which  was  which  ? "  Kelly  asked,  and 
as  he  went  on  he  looked  murderously  about  him  —  "  unless 
one  of  us  peaches." 

"  He'll  know  as  soon  as  ever  he  claps  eyes  on  us," 
Parsons  replied.  "  One  look  at  you'd  be  enough." 

"  Tell  him  the  deck  flopped  up  and  gouged  yer  teeth 
out  iv  yer  jaw,"  Louis  grinned.  He  was  the  only  man 


I4O  THE  SEA-WOLF 

who  was  not  out  of  his  bunk,  and  he  was  jubilant  in  that 
he  possessed  no  bruises  to  advertise  that  he  had  had  a 
hand  in  the  night's  work.  "Just  wait  till  he  gets  a  glimpse 
iv  yer  mugs  to-morrow,  the  gang  iv  ye,"  he  chuckled. 

"  We'll  say  we  thought  it  was  the  mate,"  said  one. 
And  another,  "I  know  what  I'll  say — that  I  heered  a 
row,  jumped  out  of  my  bunk,  got  a  jolly  good  crack  on 
the  jaw  for  my  pains,  and  sailed  in  myself.  Couldn't  tell 
who  or  what  it  was  in  the  dark  and  just  hit  out." 

"  An'  'twas  me  you  hit,  of  course,"  Kelly  seconded,  his 
face  brightening  for  the  moment. 

Leach  and  Johnson  took  no  part  in  the  discussion,  and 
it  was  plain  to  see  that  their  mates  looked  upon  them  as 
men  for  whom  the  worst  was  inevitable,  who  were  beyond 
hope  and  already  dead.  Leach  stood  their  fears  and  re- 
proaches for  some  time.  Then  he  broke  out : 

"  You  make  me  tired !  A  nice  lot  of  gazabas  you  are ! 
If  you  talked  less  with  yer  mouth  and  did  something  with 
yer  hands,  he'd  a-ben  done  with  by  now.  Why  couldn't 
one  of  you,  just  one  of  you,  get  me  a  knife  when  I  sung 
out  ?  You  make  me  sick !  A-beefin'  and  bellerin'  'round, 
as  though  he'd  kill  you  when  he  gets  you !  You  know 
damn  well  he  won't.  Can't  afford  to.  No  shipping  mas- 
ters or  beach  combers  over  here,  and  he  wants  yer  in  his 
business,  and  he  wants  yer  bad.  Who's  to  pull  or  steer  or 
sail  ship  if  he  loses  yer?  It's  me  and  Johnson  have  to 
face  the  music.  Get  into  yer  bunks,  now,  and  shut  yer 
faces ;  I  want  to  get  some  sleep." 

"  That's  all  right  all  right,"  Parsons  spoke  up.  "  Mebbe 
he  won't  do  for  us,  but  mark  my  words,  hell  '11  be  an  ice- 
box to  this  ship  from  now  on." 

All  the  while  I  had  been  apprehensive  concerning  my 
own  predicament.  What  would  happen  to  me  when  these 


THE  SEA-WOLF  14! 

men  discovered  my  presence?  I  could  never  fight  my 
way  out  as  Wolf  Larsen  had  done.  And  at  this  moment 
Latimer  called  down  the  scuttles : 

"  Hump  !     The  old  man  wants  you ! " 

"  He  ain't  down  here  ! "  Parsons  called  back. 

"Yes  he  is,"  I  said,  sliding  out  of  the  bunk  and  striving 
my  hardest  to  keep  my  voice  steady  and  bold. 

The  sailors  looked  at  me  in  consternation.  Fear  was 
strong  in  their  faces,  and  the  devilishness  which  comes  of 
fear. 

"  I'm  coming !  "  I  shouted  up  to  Latimer. 

"  No  you  don't !  "  Kelly  cried,  stepping  between  me  and 
the  ladder,  his  right  hand  shaped  into  a  veritable  stran- 
gler's  clutch.  "You  damn  little  sneak!  I'll  shut  yer 
mouth ! " 

"  Let  him  go,"  Leach  commanded. 

"  Not  on  yer  life,"  was  the  angry  retort. 

Leach  never  changed  his  position  on  the  edge  of  the 
bunk.  "  Let  him  go,  I  say,"  he  repeated ;  but  this  time 
his  voice  was  gritty  and  metallic. 

The  Irishman  wavered.  I  made  to  step  by  him,  and  he 
stood  aside.  When  I  had  gained  the  ladder,  I  turned  to 
the  circle  of  brutal  and  malignant  faces  peering  at  me 
through  the  semi-darkness.  A  sudden  and  deep  sym- 
pathy welled  up  hi  me.  I  remembered  the  Cockney's 
way  of  putting  it.  How  God  must  have  hated  them  that 
they  should  be  tortured  so  ! 

"  I  have  seen  and  heard  nothing,  believe  me,"  I  said 
quietly. 

"  I  tell  yer,  he's  all  right,"  I  could  hear  Leach  saying  as 
I  went  up  the  ladder.  "  He  don't  like  the  old  man  no 
more  nor  you  or  me." 

I  found  Wolf  Larsen  in  the  cabin,  stripped  and  bloody, 


142  THE  SEA-WOLF 

waiting  for  me.  He  greeted  me  with  one  of  his  whimsical 
smiles. 

"  Come,  get  to  work,  Doctor.  The  signs  are  favorable 
for  an  extensive  practice  this  voyage.  I  don't  know  what 
the  Ghost  would  have  been  without  you,  and  if  I  could 
only  cherish  such  noble  sentiments  I  would  tell  you  her 
master  is  deeply  grateful." 

I  knew  the  run  of  the  simple  medicine-chest  the  Ghost 
carried,  and  while  I  was  heating  water  on  the  cabin  stove 
and  getting  the  things  ready  for  dressing  his  wounds,  he 
moved  about,  laughing  and  chatting,  and  examining  his 
hurts  with  a  calculating  eye.  I  had  never  before  seen 
him  stripped,  and  the  sight  of  his  body  quite  took  my 
breath  away.  It  has  never  been  my  weakness  to  exalt  the 
flesh  —  far  from  it ;  but  there  is  enough  of  the  artist  in  me 
to  appreciate  its  wonder. 

I  must  say  that  I  was  fascinated  by  the  perfect  lines  of 
Wolf  Larsen's  figure,  and  by  what  I  may  term  the  terrible 
beauty  of  it.  I  had  noted  the  men  in  the  forecastle.  Power- 
fully muscled  though  some  of  them  were,  there  had  been 
something  wrong  with  all  of  them,  an  insufficient  develop- 
ment here,  an  undue  development  there,  a  twist  or  a  crook 
that  destroyed  symmetry,  legs  too  short  or  too  long,  or  too 
much  sinew  or  bone  exposed,  or  too  little.  Oofty-Oofty 
had  been  the  only  one  whose  lines  were  at  all  pleasing, 
while,  in  so  far  as  they  pleased,  that  far  had  they  been 
what  I  should  call  feminine. 

But  Wolf  Larsen  was  the  man-type,  the  masculine,  and 
almost  a  god  in  his  perfectness.  As  he  moved  about  or 
raised  his  arms  the  great  muscles  leapt  and  moved  under 
the  satiny  skin.  I  have  forgotten  to  say  that  the  bronze 
ended  with  his  face.  His  body,  thanks  to  his  Scandinavian 
stock,  was  fair  as  the  fairest  woman's.  I  remember  his 


THE  SEA-WOLF  143 

putting  his  hand  up  to  feel  of  the  wound  on  his  head,  and 
my  watching  the  biceps  move  like  a  living  thing  under  its 
white  sheath.  It  was  the  biceps  that  had  nearly  crushed 
out  my  life  once,  that  I  had  seen  strike  so  many  killing 
blows.  I  could  not  take  my  eyes  from  him.  I  stood 
motionless,  a  roll  of  antiseptic  cotton  in  my  hand  unwind- 
ing and  spilling  itself  down  to  the  floor. 

He  noticed  me,  and  I  became  conscious  that  I  was 
staring  at  him. 

"  God  made  you  well,"  I  said. 

"  Did  he  ? "  he  answered.  "  I  have  often  thought  so 
myself,  and  wondered  why." 

"Purpose  —  "  I  began. 

"Utility,"  he  interrupted.  "This  body  was  made  for 
use.  These  muscles  were  made  to  grip,  and  tear,  and 
destroy  living  things  that  get  between  me  and  life.  But 
have  you  thought  of  the  other  living  things  ?  They,  too, 
have  muscles,  of  one  kind  and  another,  made  to  grip,  and 
tear,  and  destroy;  and  when  they  come  between  me  and 
life,  I  outgrip  them,  outtear  them,  outdestroy  them. 
Purpose  does  not  explain  that.  Utility  does." 

"  It  is  not  beautiful,"  I  protested. 

"  Life  isn't,  you  mean,"  he  smiled.  "  Yet  you  say  I  was 
made  well.  Do  you  see  this  ? " 

He  braced  his  legs  and  feet,  pressing  the  cabin  floor 
with  his  toes  in  a  clutching  sort  of  way.  Knots  and 
ridges  and  mounds  of  muscles  writhed  and  bunched 
under  the  skin. 

"  Feel  them,"  he  commanded. 

They  were  hard  as  iron.  And  I  observed,  also,  that  his 
whole  body  had  unconsciously  drawn  itself  together,  tense 
and  alert ;  that  muscles  were  softly  crawling  and  shaping 
about  the  hips,  along  the  back,  and  across  the  shoulders ; 


144  THE  SEA-WOLF 

that  the  arms  were  slightly  lifted,  their  muscles  contracting, 
the  fingers  crooking  till  the  hands  were  like  talons ;  and 
that  even  the  eyes  had  changed  expression  and  into  them 
were  coming  watchfulness  and  measurement  and  a  light 
none  other  than  of  battle. 

"  Stability,  equilibrium,"  he  said,  relaxing  on  the  instant 
and  sinking  his  body  back  into  repose.  "  Feet  with  which 
to  clutch  the  ground,  legs  to  stand  on  and  to  help  with- 
stand, while  with  arms  and  hands,  teeth  and  nails,  I 
struggle  to  kill  and  to  be  not  killed.  Purpose  ?  Utility 
is  the  better  word." 

I  did  not  argue.  I  had  seen  the  mechanism  of  the 
primitive  fighting  beast,  and  I  was  as  strongly  impressed 
as  if  I  had  seen  the  engines  of  a  great  battleship  or 
Atlantic  liner. 

I  was  surprised,  considering  the  fierce  struggle  in  the 
forecastle,  at  the  superficiality  of  his  hurts,  and  I  pride 
myself  that  I  dressed  them  dexterously.  With  the  excep- 
tion of  several  bad  wounds,  the  rest  were  merely  severe 
bruises  and  lacerations.  The  blow  which  he  had  received 
before  going  overboard  had  laid  his  scalp  open  several 
inches.  This,  under  his  direction,  I  cleansed  and  sewed 
together,  having  first  shaved  the  edges  of  the  wound. 
Then  the  calf  of  his  leg  was  badly  lacerated  and  looked 
as  though  it  had  been  mangled  by  a  bulldog.  Some 
sailor,  he  told  me,  had  laid  hold  of  it  by  his  teeth,  at  the 
beginning  of  the  fight,  and  hung  on  and  been  dragged  to 
the  top  of  the  forecastle  ladder,  when  he  was  kicked  loose. 

"  By  the  way,  Hump,  as  I  have  remarked,  you  are  a 
handy  man,"  Wolf  Larsen  began,  when  my  work  was  done. 
"As  you  know,  we're  short  a  mate.  Hereafter  you  shall 
stand  watches,  receive  seventy-five  dollars  per  month,  and 
be  addressed  fore  and  aft  as  Mr.  Van  Weyden." 


THE  SEA-WOLF  145 

"I  —  I  don't  understand  navigation,  you  know,"  I  gasped. 

"  Not  necessary  at  all." 

"  I  really  do  not  care  to  sit  in  the  high  places,"  I  ob- 
jected. "  I  find  life  precarious  enough  in  my  present  hum- 
ble situation.  I  have  no  experience.  Mediocrity,  you  see, 
has  its  compensations." 

He  smiled  as  though  it  were  all  settled. 

"  I  won't  be  mate  on  this  hell-ship  !  "  I  cried  defiantly. 

I  saw  his  face  grow  hard  and  the  merciless  glitter  come 
into  his  eyes.  He  walked  to  the  door  of  his  room,  saying : 

"  And  now,  Mr.  Van  Weyden,  good  night." 

"  Good  night,  Mr.  Larsen,"  I  answered  weakly. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

I  CANNOT  say  that  the  position  of  mate  carried  with  it 
anything  more  joyful  than  that  there  were  no  more  dishes 
to  wash.  I  was  ignorant  of  the  simplest  duties  of  mate, 
and  would  have  fared  badly  indeed  had  the  sailors  not 
sympathized  with  me.  I  knew  nothing  of  the  minutiae  of 
ropes  and  rigging,  of  the  trimming  and  setting  of  sails; 
but  the  sailors  took  pains  to  put  me  to  rights,  —  Louis 
proving  an  especially  good  teacher,  —  and  I  had  little 
trouble  with  those  under  me. 

With  the  hunters  it  was  otherwise.  Familiar  in  varying 
degree  with  the  sea,  they  took  me  as  a  sort  of  joke.  In 
truth,  it  was  a  joke  to  me,  that  I,  the  veriest  landsman, 
should  be  filling  the  office  of  mate;  but  to  be  taken  as 
a  joke  by  others  was  a  different  matter.  I  made  no  com- 
plaint, but  Wolf  Larsen  demanded  the  most  punctilious 
sea  etiquette  in  my  case,  —  far  more  than  poor  Johansen 
had  ever  received;  and  at  the  expense  of  several  rows, 
threats,  and  much  grumbling,  he  brought  the  hunters  to 
time.  I  was  "  Mr.  Van  Weyden  "  fore  and  aft,  and  it  was 
only  unofficially  that  Wolf  Larsen  himself  ever  addressed 
me  as  "  Hump." 

It  was  amusing.  Perhaps  the  wind  would  haul  a  few 
points  while  we  were  at  dinner,  and  as  I  left  the  table  he 
would  say,  "  Mr.  Van  Weyden,  will  you  kindly  put  about 
on  the  port  tack."  And  I  would  go  on  deck,  beckon  Louis 
to  me,  and  learn  from  him  what  was  to  be  done.  Then,  a 
few  minutes  later,  having  digested  his  instructions  and 

146 


THE  SEA-WOLF 

thoroughly  mastered  the  manoeuvre,  I  would  proceed  to 
issue  my  orders.  I  remember  an  early  instance  of  this 
kind,  when  Wolf  Larsen  appeared  on  the  scene  just  as  I 
had  begun  to  give  orders.  He  smoked  his  cigar  and  looked 
on  quietly  till  the  thing  was  accomplished,  and  then  paced 
aft  by  my  side  along  the  weather  poop. 

"  Hump,"  he  said,  "  I  beg  pardon,  Mr.  Van  Weyden, 
I  congratulate  you.  I  think  you  can  now  fire  your  father's 
legs  back  into  the  grave  to  him.  You've  discovered  your 
own  and  learned  to  stand  on  them.  A  little  rope-work, 
sail-making,  and  experience  with  storms  and  such  things, 
and  by  the  end  of  the  voyage  you  could  ship  on  any  coast- 
ing schooner." 

It  was  during  this  period,  between  the  death  of  Johansen 
and  the  arrival  on  the  sealing  grounds,  that  I  passed  my 
pleasantest  hours  on  the  Ghost.  Wolf  Larsen  was  quite 
considerate,  the  sailors  helped  me,  and  I  was  no  longer  in 
irritating  contact  with  Thomas  Mugridge.  And  I  make 
free  to  say,  as  the  days  went  by,  that  I  found  I  was  taking 
a  certain  secret  pride  in  myself.  Fantastic  as  the  situation 
was,  —  a  landlubber  second  in  command,  —  I  was,  never- 
theless, carrying  it  off  well ;  and  during  that  brief  time  I 
was  proud  of  myself,  and  I  grew  to  love  the  heave  and  roll 
of  the  Ghost  under  my  feet  as  she  wallowed  north  and 
west  through  the  tropic  sea  to  the  islet  where  we  filled  our 
water-casks. 

But  my  happiness  was  not  unalloyed.  It  was  compara- 
tive, a  period  of  less  misery  slipped  in  between  a  past  of 
great  miseries  and  a  future  of  great  miseries.  For  the 
Ghost,  so  far  as  the  seamen  were  concerned,  was  a  hell-ship 
of  the  worse  description.  They  never  had  a  moment's 
rest  or  peace.  Wolf  Larsen  treasured  against  them  the 
attempt  on  his  Me  and  the  drubbing  he  had  received  in 


148  THE  SEA-WOLF 

the  forecastle ;  and  morning,  noon,  and  night,  and  all  night 
as  well,  he  devoted  himself  to  making  life  unlivable  for 
them. 

He  knew  well  the  psychology  of  the  little  thing,  and  it 
was  the  little  things  by  which  he  kept  the  crew  worked  up 
to  the  verge  of  madness.  I  have  seen  Harrison  called 
from  his  bunk  to  put  properly  away  a  misplaced  paint- 
brush, and  the  two  watches  below  haled  from  their  tired 
sleep  to  accompany  him  and  see  him  do  it.  A  little  thing, 
truly,  but  when  multiplied  by  the  thousand  ingenious  de- 
vices of  such  a  mind,  the  mental  state  of  the  men  in  the 
forecastle  may  be  slightly  comprehended. 

Of  course  much  grumbling  went  on,  and  little  outbursts 
were  continually  occurring.  Blows  were  struck,  and  there 
were  always  two  or  three  men  nursing  injuries  at  the  hands 
of  the  human  beast  who  was  their  master.  Concerted  ac- 
tion was  impossible  in  face  of  the  heavy  arsenal  of  weapons 
carried  in  the  steerage  and  cabin.  Leach  and  Johnson 
were  the  two  particular  victims  of  Wolf  Larsen's  diabolic 
temper,  and  the  look  of  profound  melancholy  which  had 
settled  on  Johnson's  face  and  in  his  eyes  made  my  heart 
bleed. 

With  Leach  it  was  different.  There  was  too  much  of  the 
fighting  beast  in  him.  He  seemed  possessed  by  an  insati- 
able fury  which  gave  no  time  for  grief.  His  lips  had  be- 
come distorted  into  a  permanent  snarl,  which,  at  mere 
sight  of  Wolf  Larsen,  broke  out  in  sound,  horrible  and 
menacing,  and,  I  do  believe,  unconsciously.  I  have  seen 
him  follow  Wolf  Larsen  about  with  his  eyes,  like  an  ani- 
mal its  keeper,  the  while  the  animal-like  snarl  sounded 
deep  in  his  throat  and  vibrated  forth  between  his  teeth. 

I  remember  once,  on  deck,  in  bright  day,  touching  him 
on  the  shoulder  as  preliminary  to  giving  'an  order.  His 


THE  SEA-WOLF  149 

back  was  toward  me,  and  at  the  first  feel  of  my  hand  he 
leaped  upright  in  the  air  and  away  from  me,  snarling  and 
turning  his  head  as  he  leaped.  He  had  for  the  moment 
mistaken  me  for  the  man  he  hated. 

Both  he  and  Johnson  would  have  killed  Wolf  Larsen  at 
the  slightest  opportunity,  but  the  opportunity  never  came. 
Wolf  Larsen  was  too  wise  for  that,  and,  besides,  they  had 
no  adequate  weapons.  With  their  fists  alone  they  had  no 
chance  whatever.  Time  and  again  he  fought  it  out  with 
Leach,  who  fought  back,  always,  like  a  wildcat,  tooth  and 
nail  and  fist,  until  stretched,  exhausted  or  unconscious,  on 
the  deck.  And  he  was  never  averse  to  another  encounter. 
All  the  devil  that  was  in  him  challenged  the  devil  in  Wolf 
Larsen.  They  had  but  to  appear  on  deck  at  the  same 
time,  when  they  would  be  at  it,  cursing,  snarling,  striking ; 
and  I  have  seen  Leach  fling  himself  upon  Wolf  Larsen 
without  warning  or  provocation.  Once  he  threw  his  heavy 
sheath-knife,  missing  Wolf  Larsen's  throat  by  an  inch. 
Another  time  he  dropped  a  steel  marlinspike  from  the 
mizzen  crosstree.  It  was  a  difficult  cast  to  make  on  a 
rolling  ship,  but  the  sharp  point  of  the  spike,  whistling 
seventy-five  feet  through  the  air,  barely  missed  Wolf  Lar- 
sen's head  as  he  emerged  from  the  cabin  companionway 
and  drove  its  length  two  inches  and  over  into  the  solid 
deck-planking.  Still  another  time,  he  stole  into  the  steer- 
age, possessed  himself  of  a  loaded  shot-gun,  and  was  mak- 
ing a  rush  for  the  deck  with  it  when  caught  by  Kerfoot 
and  disarmed. 

I  often  wondered  why  Wolf  Larsen  did  not  kill  him  and 
make  an  end  of  it.  But  he  only  laughed  and  seemed  to 
enjoy  it.  There  seemed  a  certain  spice  about  it,  such  as 
men  must  feel  who  take  delight  in  making  pets  of  fero- 
cious animals. 


150  THE  SEA- WOLF 

"  It  gives  a  thrill  to  life,"  he  explained  to  me,  "  when 
life  is  carried  in  one's  hand.  Man  is  a  natural  gambler, 
and  life  is  the  biggest  stake  he  can  lay.  The  greater  the 
odds,  the  greater  the  thrill.  Why  should  I  deny  myself 
the  joy  of  exciting  Leach's  soul  to  fever-pitch  ?  For  that 
matter,  I  do  him  a  kindness.  The  greatness  of  sensation 
is  mutual.  He  is  living  more  royally  than  any  man  f or'ard, 
though  he  does  not  know  it.  For  he  has  what  they  have 
not  —  purpose,  something  to  do  and  be  done,  an  all-absorb- 
ing end  to  strive  to  attain,  the  desire  to  kill  me,  the  hope 
that  he  may  kill  me.  Really,  Hump,  he  is  living  deep  and 
high.  I  doubt  that  he  has  ever  lived  so  swiftly  and  keenly 
before,  and  I  honestly  envy  him,  sometimes,  when  I  see 
him  raging  at  the  summit  of  passion  and  sensibility." 

"Ah,  but  it  is  cowardly,  cowardly!"  I  cried.  "You 
have  all  the  advantage." 

"  Of  the  two  of  us,  you  and  I,  who  is  the  greater  cow- 
ard ?  "  he  asked  seriously.  "  If  the  situation  is  unpleasing, 
you  compromise  with  your  conscience  when  you  make 
yourself  a  party  to  it.  If  you  were  really  great,  really 
true  to  yourself,  you  would  join  forces  with  Leach  and 
Johnson.  But  you  are  afraid,  you  are  afraid.  You  want 
to  live.  The  life  that  is  in  you  cries  out  that  it  must  live, 
no  matter  what  the  cost ;  so  you  live  ignominiously,  untrue 
to  the  best  you  dream  of,  sinning  against  your  whole  pitiful 
little  code,  and,  if  there  were  a  hell,  heading  your  soul 
straight  for  it.  Bah !  I  play  the  braver  part.  I  do  no  sin, 
for  I  am  true  to  the  promptings  of  the  life  that  is  in  me. 
I  am  sincere  with  my  soul  at  least,  and  that  is  what  you 
are  not." 

There  was  a  sting  in  what  he  said.  Perhaps,  after  all, 
I  was  playing  a  cowardly  part.  And  the  more  I  thought 
about  it  the  more  it  appeared  that  my  duty  to  myself  lay 


THE  SEA-WOLF  !$! 

in  doing  what  he  had  advised,  lay  in  joining  forces  with 
Johnson  and  Leach  and  working  for  his  death.  Right 
here,  I  think,  entered  the  austere  conscience  of  my  Puritan 
ancestry,  impelling  me  toward  lurid  deeds  and  sanctioning 
even  murder  as  right  conduct.  I  dwelt  upon  the  idea.  It 
would  be  a  most  moral  act  to  rid  the  world  of  such  a 
monster.  Humanity  would  be  better  and  happier  for  it, 
life  fairer  and  sweeter. 

I  pondered  it  long,  lying  sleepless  in  my  bunk  and  re- 
viewing in  endless  procession  the  facts  of  the  situation. 
I  talked  with  Johnson  and  Leach,  during  the  night  watches 
when  Wolf  Larsen  was  below.  Both  men  had  lost  hope, 
— Johnson,  because  of  temperamental  despondency ;  Leach, 
because  he  had  beaten  himself  out  in  the  vain  struggle  and 
was  exhausted.  But  he  caught  my  hand  in  a  passionate 
grip  one  night,  saying : 

"  I  think  yer  square,  Mr.  Van  Weyden.  But  stay  where 
you  are  and  keep  yer  mouth  shut.  Say  nothin'  but  saw 
wood.  We're  dead  men,  I  know  it ;  but  all  the  same  you 
might  be  able  to  do  us  a  favor  some  time  when  we  need  it 
damn  bad." 

It  was  only  next  day,  when  Wainwright  Island  loomed  to 
windward,  close  abeam,  that  Wolf  Larsen  opened  his  mouth 
in  prophecy.  He  had  attacked  Johnson,  been  attacked  by 
Leach,  and  had  just  finished  whipping  the  pair  of  them. 

"Leach,"  he  said,  "you  know  I'm  going  to  kill  you 
some  time  or  other,  don't  you  ? " 

A  snarl  was  the  answer. 

"And  as  for  you,  Johnson,  you'll  get  so  tired  of  life 
before  I'm  through  with  you  that  you'll  fling  yourself  over 
the  side.  See  if  you  don't." 

"That's  a  suggestion,"  he  added,  in  an  aside  to  me. 
"  I'll  bet  you  a  month's  pay  he  acts  upon  it." 


152  THE  SEA-WOLF 

I  had  cherished  a  hope  that  his  victims  would  find  an 
opportunity  to  escape  while  filling  our  water-barrels,  but 
Wolf  Larsen  had  selected  his  spot  well.  The  Ghost  lay 
half  a  mile  beyond  the  surf-line  of  a  lonely  beach.  Here 
debouched  a  deep  gorge,  with  precipitous,  volcanic  walls 
which  no  man  could  scale.  And  here,  under  his  direct 
supervision,  —  for  he  went  ashore  himself,  —  Leach  and 
Johnson  filled  the  small  casks  and  rolled  them  down  to  the 
beach.  They  had  no  chance  to  make  a  break  for  liberty  in 
one  of  the  boats. 

Harrison  and  Kelly,  however,  made  such  an  attempt. 
They  composed  one  of  the  boat's  crews,  and  their  task  was 
to  ply  between  the  schooner  and  the  shore,  carrying  a 
single  cask  each  trip.  Just  before  dinner,  starting  for  the 
beach  with  an  empty  barrel,  they  altered  their  course  and 
bore  away  to  the  left  to  round  the  promontory  which  jutted 
into  the  sea  between  them  and  liberty.  Beyond  its  foam- 
ing base  lay  the  pretty  villages  of  the  Japanese  colonists, 
and  smiling  valleys  which  penetrated  deep  into  the  interior. 
Once  in  the  fastnesses  they  promised,  and  the  two  men 
could  defy  Wolf  Larsen. 

I  had  observed  Henderson  and  Smoke  loitering  about 
the  deck  all  morning,  and  I  now  learned  why  they  were 
there.  Procuring  their  rifles,  they  opened  fire  in  a  leisurely 
manner  upon  the  deserters.  It  was  a  cold-blooded  ex- 
hibition of  marksmanship.  At  first  their  bullets  zipped 
harmlessly  along  the  surface  of  the  water  on  either  side 
the  boat :  but,  as  the  men  continued  to  pull  lustily,  they 
struck  closer  and  closer. 

"  Now  watch  me  take  Kelly's  right  oar,"  Smoke  said, 
drawing  a  more  careful  aim. 

I  was  looking  through  the  glasses,  and  I  saw  the  oar- 
blade  shatter  as  he  shot.  Henderson  duplicated  it,  select 


THE  SEA-WOLF  153 

ing  Harrison's  right  oar.  The  boat  slewed  around.  The 
two  remaining  oars  were  quickly  broken.  The  men  tried 
to  row  with  the  splinters,  and  had  them  shot  out  of  their 
hands.  Kelly  ripped  up  a  bottom  board  and  began  pad- 
dling, but  dropped  it  with  a  cry  of  pain  as  its  splinters  drove 
into  his  hands.  Then  they  gave  up,  letting  the  boat  drift 
till  a  second  boat,  sent  from  the  shore  by  Wolf  Larsen, 
took  them  in  tow  and  brought  them  aboard. 

Late  that  afternoon  we  hove  up  anchor  and  got  away. 
Nothing  was  before  us  but  the  three  or  four  months'  hunt- 
ing on  the  sealing  grounds.  The  outlook  was  black  in- 
deed, and  I  went  about  my  work  with  a  heavy  heart.  An 
almost  funereal  gloom  seemed  to  have  descended  upon  the 
Ghost.  Wolf  Larsen  had  taken  to  his  bunk  with  one  of  his 
strange,  splitting  headaches.  Harrison  stood  listlessly  at 
the  wheel,  half -sup  porting  himself  by  it,  as  though  wearied 
by  the  weight  of  his  flesh.  The  rest  of  the  men  were 
morose  and  silent.  I  came  upon  Kelly  crouching  to  the 
lee  of  the  forecastle  scuttle,  his  head  on  his  knees,  his  arms 
about  his  head,  in  an  attitude  of  unutterable  despondency. 

Johnson  I  found  lying  full  length  on  the  forecastle  head, 
staring  at  the  troubled  churn  of  the  forefoot,  and  I  remem- 
bered with  horror  the  suggestion  Wolf  Larsen  had  made. 
It  seemed  likely  to  bear  fruit.  I  tried  to  break  in  on  the 
man's  morbid  thoughts  by  calling  him  away,  but  he  smiled 
sadly  at  me  and  refused  to  obey. 

Leach  approached  me  as  I  returned  aft. 

"  I  want  to  ask  a  favor,  Mr.  Van  Weyden,"  he  said.  "  If 
it's  yer  luck  to  ever  make  'Frisco  once  more,  will  you  hunt 
up  Matt  McCarthy  ?  He's  my  old  man.  He  lives  on  the 
Hill,  back  of  the  Mayfair  bakery,  runnin'  a  cobbler's  shop 
that  everybody  knows,  and  you'll  have  no  trouble.  Tell 
him  I  lived  to  be  sorry  for  the  trouble  I  brought  him  and 


154  THE  SEA-WOLF 

the  things  I  done,  and — and  just  tell  him  '  God  bless  him,' 
for  me." 

I  nodded  my  head,  but  said,  "  We'll  all  win  back  to  San 
Francisco,  Leach,  and  you'll  be  with  me  when  I  go  to  see 
Matt  McCarthy." 

"  I'd  like  to  believe  you,"  he  answered,  shaking  my 
hand,  "but  I  can't.  Wolf  Larsen'll  do  for  me,  I  know  it; 
and  all  I  can  hope  is  he'll  do  it  quick." 

And  as  he  left  me  I  was  aware  of  the  same  desire  at  my 
heart.  Since  it  was  to  be  done,  let  it  be  done  with  de- 
spatch. The  general  gloom  had  gathered  me  into  its  folds. 
The  worst  appeared  inevitable ;  and  as  I  paced  the  deck, 
hour  after  hour,  I  found  myself  afflicted  with  Wolf  Lar- 
sen's  repulsive  ideas.  What  was  it  all  about  ?  Where  was 
the  grandeur  of  life  that  it  should  permit  such  wanton 
destruction  of  human  souls  ?  It  was  a  cheap  and  sordid 
thing  after  all,  this  life,  and  the  sooner  over  the  better. 
Over  and  done  with !  I,  too,  leaned  upon  the  rail  and 
gazed  longingly  into  the  sea,  with  the  certainty  that  sooner 
or  later  I  should  be  sinking  down,  down,  through  the 
cool  green  depths  of  its  oblivion. 


CHAPTER   XVII 

STRANGE  to  say,  in  spite  of  the  general  foreboding,  noth- 
ing of  especial  moment  happened  on  the  Ghost.  We  ran 
on  to  the  north  and  west  till  we  raised  the  coast  of  Japan 
and  picked  up  with  the  great  seal  herd.  Coming  from  no 
man  knew  where  in  the  illimitable  Pacific,  it  was  travelling 
north  on  its  annual  migration  to  the  rookeries  of  Bering 
Sea.  And  north  we  travelled  with  it,  ravaging  and  destroy- 
ing, flinging  the  naked  carcasses  to  the  shark  and  salting 
down  the  skins  so  that  they  might  later  adorn  the  fair 
shoulders  of  the  women  of  the  cities. 

It  was  wanton  slaughter,  and  all  for  woman's  sake.  No 
man  ate  of  the  seal  meat  or  the  oil.  After  a  good  day's 
killing  I  have  seen  our  decks  covered  with  hides  and 
bodies,  slippery  with  fat  and  blood,  the  scuppers  running 
red ;  masts,  ropes,  and  rails  spattered  with  the  sanguinary 
color ;  and  the  men,  like  butchers  plying  their  trade,  naked 
and  red  of  arm  and  hand,  hard  at  work  with  ripping  and 
flensing-knives,  removing  the  skins  from  the  pretty  sea- 
creatures  they  had  killed. 

It  was  my  task  to  tally  the  pelts  as  they  came  aboard 
from  the  boats,  to  oversee  the  skinning  and  afterward  the 
cleansing  of  the  decks  and  bringing  things  shipshape 
again.  It  was  not  pleasant  work.  My  soul  and  my 
stomach  revolted  at  it;  and  yet,  in  a  way,  this  handling 
and  directing  of  many  men  was  good  for  me.  It  devel- 
oped what  little  executive  ability  I  possessed,  and  I  was 
aware  of  a  toughening  or  hardening  which  I  was  under- 


156  THE  SEA-WOLF 

going  and  which  could  not  be  anything  but  wholesome  for 
"  Sissy  "  Van  Weyden. 

One  thing  I  was  beginning  to  feel,  and  that  was  that  I 
could  never  again  be  quite  the  same  man  I  had  been. 
While  my  hope  and  faith  in  human  life  still  survived  Wolf 
Larsen's  destructive  criticism,  he  had  nevertheless  been  a 
cause  of  change  in  minor  matters.  He  had  opened  up  for  me 
the  world  of  the  real,  of  which  I  had  known  practically  noth- 
ing and  from  which  I  had  always  shrunk.  I  had  learned 
to  look  more  closely  at  life  as  it  was  lived,  to  recognize 
that  there  were  such  things  as  facts  in  the  world,  to  emerge 
from  the  realm  of  mind  and  idea  and  to  place  certain  val- 
ues on  the  concrete  and  objective  phases  of  existence. 

I  saw  more  of  Wolf  Larsen  than  ever  when  we  had 
gained  the  grounds.  For  when  the  weather  was  fair  and 
we  were  in  the  midst  of  the  herd,  all  hands  were  away  in 
the  boats,  and  left  on  board  were  only  he  and  I,  and  Thomas 
Mugridge,  who  did  not  count.  But  there  was  no  play 
about  it.  The  six  boats,  spreading  out  fan-wise  from  the 
schooner  until  the  first  weather  boat  and  the  last  lee  boat 
were  anywhere  from  ten  to  twenty  miles  apart,  cruised 
along  a  straight  course  over  the  sea  till  nightfall  or  bad 
weather  drove  them  in.  It  was  our  duty  to  sail  the  Ghost 
well  to  leeward  of  the  last  lee  boat,  so  that  all  the  boats 
should  have  fair  wind  to  run  for  us  in  case  of  squalls  or 
threatening  weather. 

It  is  no  slight  matter  for  two  men,  particularly  when  a 
stiff  wind  has  sprung  up,  to  handle  a  vessel  like  the  Ghost, 
steering,  keeping  lookout  for  the  boats,  and  setting  or 
taking  in  sail ;  so  it  devolved  upon  me  to  learn  and  learn 
quickly.  Steering  I  picked  up  easily,  but  running  aloft  to 
the  crosstrees  and  swinging  my  whole  weight  by  my  arms 
when  I  left  the  ratlines  and  climbed  still  higher,  was  more 


THE  SEA-WOLF  157 

difficult  This,  too,  I  learned,  and  quickly,  for  I  felt 
somehow  a  wild  desire  to  vindicate  myself  in  Wolf  Larsen's 
eyes,  to  prove  my  right  to  live  in  ways  other  than  of  the 
mind.  Nay,  the  time  came  when  I  took  joy  in  the  run  of 
the  masthead  and  in  the  clinging  on  by  my  legs  at  that 
precarious  height  while  I  swept  the  sea  with  glasses  in 
search  of  the  boats. 

I  remember  one  beautiful  day,  when  the  boats  left  early 
and  the  reports  of  the  hunters'  guns  grew  dim  and  distant 
and  died  away  as  they  scattered  far  and  wide  over  the  sea. 
There  was  just  the  faintest  wind  from  the  westward ;  but 
it  breathed  its  last  by  the  time  we  managed  to  get  to 
leeward  of  the  last  lee  boat.  One  by  one,  —  I  was  at  the 
masthead  and  saw,  —  the  six  boats  disappeared  over  the 
bulge  of  the  earth  as  they  followed  the  seal  into  the  west. 
We  lay,  scarcely  rolling  on  the  placid  sea,  unable  to  follow. 
Wolf  Larsen  was  apprehensive.  The  barometer  was 
down,  and  the  sky  to  the  east  did  not  please  him.  He 
studied  it  with  unceasing  vigilance. 

"  If  she  comes  out  of  there,"  he  said,  "  hard  and  snappy, 
putting  us  to  windward  of  the  boats,  it's  likely  there'll  be 
empty  bunks  in  steerage  and  fo'c'sle." 

By  eleven  o'clock  the  sea  had  become  glass.  By  mid- 
day, though  we  were  well  up  in  the  northerly  latitudes,  the 
heat  was  sickening.  There  was  no  freshness  in  the  air. 
It  was  sultry  and  oppressive,  reminding  me  of  what  the 
old  Californians  term  "earthquake  weather."  There  was 
something  ominous  about  it,  and  in  intangible  ways  one 
was  made  to  feel  that  the  worst  was  about  to  come.  Slowly 
the  whole  eastern  sky  filled  with  clouds  that  overtowered  us 
like  some  black  sierra  of  the  infernal  regions.  So  clearly 
could  one  see  canon,  gorge,  and  precipice,  and  the 
shadows  that  lie  therein,  that  one  looked  unconsciously  for 


158  THE  SEA-WOLF 

the  white  surf-line  and  bellowing  caverns  where  the  sea 
charges  on  the  land.  And  still  we  rocked  gently,  and 
there  was  no  wind. 

"It's  no  squall,"  Wolf  Larsen  said.  "Old  Mother 
Nature's  going  to  get  up  on  her  hind  legs  and  howl  for  all 
that's  in  her,  and  it'll  keep  us  jumping,  Hump,  to  pull 
through  with  half  our  boats.  You'd  better  run  up  and 
loosen  the  topsails." 

"  But  if  it  is  going  to  howl,  and  there  are  only  two  of 
us  ? "  I  asked,  a  note  of  protest  in  my  voice. 

"  Why,  we've  got  to  make  the  best  of  the  first  of  it  and 
run  down  to  our  boats  before  our  canvas  is  ripped  out  of 
us.  After  that  I  don't  give  a  rap  what  happens.  The 
sticks'll  stand  it,  and  you  and  I  will  have  to,  though  we've 
plenty  cut  out  for  us." 

Still  the  calm  continued.  We  ate  dinner,  a  hurried  and 
anxious  meal  for  me  with  eighteen  men  abroad  on  the  sea 
and  beyond  the  bulge  of  the  earth  and  with  that  heaven- 
rolling  mountain  range  of  clouds  moving  slowly  down  upon 
us.  Wolf  Larsen  did  not  seem  affected,  however  ;  though 
I  noticed,  when  we  returned  to  the  deck,  a  slight  twitch- 
ing of  the  nostrils,  a  perceptible  quickness  of  movement. 
His  face  was  stern,  the  lines  of  it  had  grown  hard,  and  yet 
in  his  eyes,  — blue,  clear  blue  this  day,  —  there  was  a  strange 
brilliancy,  a  bright  scintillating  light.  It  struck  me  that  he 
was  joyous,  in  a  ferocious  sort  of  way ;  that  he  was  glad 
there  was  an  impending  struggle ;  that  he  was  thrilled  and 
upborne  with  knowledge  that  one  of  the  great  moments  of 
living,  when  the  tide  of  life  surges  up  in  flood,  was  upon 
him. 

Once,  and  unwitting  that  he  did  so  or  that  I  saw,  he 
laughed  aloud,  mockingly  and  defiantly,  at  the  advancing 
storm.  I  see  him  yet,  standing  there  like  a  pygmy  out  of 


THE  SEA-WOLF  159 

the  "  Arabian  Nights  "  before  the  huge  front  of  some  malig- 
nant genie.  He  was  daring  destiny,  and  he  was  unafraid. 

He  walked  to  the  galley.  "  Cooky,  by  the  time  you've 
finished  pots  and  pans  you'll  be  wanted  on  deck.  Stand 
ready  for  a  call." 

"  Hump,"  he  said,  becoming  cognizant  of  the  fascinated 
gaze  I  bent  upon  him,  "  this  beats  whiskey,  and  is  where 
your  Omar  misses.  I  think  he  only  half  lived  after  all." 

The  western  half  of  the  sky  had  by  now  grown  murky. 
The  sun  had  dimmed  and  faded  out  of  sight.  It  was  two 
in  the  afternoon,  and  a  ghostly  twilight,  shot  through  by 
wandering  purplish  lights,  had  descended  upon  us.  In  this 
purplish  light  Wolf  Larsen's  face  glowed  and  glowed,  and 
to  my  excited  fancy  he  appeared  encircled  by  a  halo.  We 
lay  in  the  midst  of  an  unearthly  quiet,  while  all  about  us 
were  signs  and  omens  of  oncoming  sound  and  movement. 
The  sultry  heat  had  become  unendurable.  The  sweat  was 
standing  on  my  forehead,  and  I  could  feel  it  trickling  down 
my  nose.  I  felt  as  though  I  should  faint,  and  reached  out 
to  the  rail  for  support. 

And  then,  just  then,  the  faintest  possible  whisper  of  air 
passed  by.  It  was  from  the  east,  and  like  a  whisper  it 
came  and  went.  The  drooping  canvas  was  not  stirred,  and 
yet  my  face  had  felt  the  air  and  been  cooled. 

"  Cooky,"  Wolf  Larsen  called  in  a  low  voice.  Thomas 
Mugridge  turned  a  pitiable,  scared  face.  "  Let  go  that 
fore-boom  tackle  and  pass  it  across,  and  when  she's  willing 
let  go  the  sheet  and  come  in  snug  with  the  tackle.  And 
if  you  make  a  mess  of  it,  it  will  be  the  last  you  ever  make. 
Understand  ? 

"  Mr.  Van  Weyden,  stand  by  to  pass  the  head-sails  over, 
Then  jump  for  the  topsails  and  spread  them  quick  as 
God'll  let  you  —  the  quicker  you  do  it  the  easier  you'll  find 


l6O  THE  SEA-WOLF 

it.  As  for  Cooky,  if  he  isn't  lively  bat  him  between  the 
eyes." 

I  was  aware  of  the  compliment  and  pleased,  in  that  no 
threat  had  accompanied  my  instructions.  We  were  lying 
head  to  northwest,  and  it  was  his  intention  to  jibe  over  all 
with  the  first  puff. 

"  We'll  have  the  breeze  on  our  quarter,"  he  explained  to 
me.  "By  the  last  guns  the  boats  were  bearing  away 
slightly  to  the  south'ard." 

He  turned  and  walked  aft  to  the  wheel.  I  went  forward 
and  took  my  station  at  the  jibs.  Another  whisper  of 
wind,  and  another,  passed  by.  The  canvas  flapped  lazily. 

"  Thank  Gawd  she's  not  comin'  all  of  a  bunch,  Mr.  Van 
Weyden,"  was  the  Cockney's  fervent  ejaculation. 

And  I  was  indeed  thankful,  for  I  had  by  this  time  learned 
enough  to  know,  with  all  our  canvas  spread,  what  disaster 
in  such  event  awaited  us.  The  whispers  of  wind  became 
puffs,  the  sails  filled,  the  Ghost  moved.  Wolf  Larsen  put 
the  wheel  hard  up,  to  port,  and  we  began  to  pay  off.  The 
wind  was  now  dead  astern,  muttering  and  puffing  stronger 
and  stronger,  and  my  head-sails  were  pounding  lustily.  I  did 
not  see  what  went  on  elsewhere,  though  I  felt  the  sudden 
surge  and  heel  of  the  schooner  as  the  wind-pressures 
changed  to  the  jibing  of  the  fore-  and  main-sails.  My  hands 
were  full  with  the  flying-jib,  jib,  and  staysail ;  and  by  the 
time  this  part  of  my  task  was  accomplished  the  Ghost  was 
leaping  into  the  southwest,  the  wind  on  her  quarter  and  all 
her  sheets  to  starboard.  Without  pausing  for  breath, 
though  my  heart  was  beating  like  a  trip-hammer  from  my 
exertions,  I  sprang  to  the  topsails,  and  before  the  wind  had 
become  too  strong  we  had  them  fairly  set  and  were  coiling 
down.  Then  I  went  aft  for  orders. 

Wolf    Larsen    nodded   approval   and   relinquished   the 


THE  SEA-WOLF  l6l 

wheel  to  me.  The  wind  was  strengthening  steadily  and 
the  sea  rising.  For  an  hour  I  steered,  each  moment  be- 
coming more  difficult.  I  had  not  the  experience  to  steer 
at  the  gait  we  were  going  on  a  quartering  course. 

"  Now  take  a  run  up  with  the  glasses  and  raise  some  of 
the  boats.  We've  made  at  least  ten  knots,  and  we're  going 
twelve  or  thirteen  now.  The  old  girl  knows  how  to  walk." 

I  contented  myself  with  the  fore  crosstrees,  some  seventy 
feet  above  the  deck.  As  I  searched  the  vacant  stretch  of 
water  before  me,  I  comprehended  thoroughly  the  need  for 
haste  if  we  were  to  recover  any  of  our  men.  Indeed,  as  I 
gazed  at  the  heavy  sea  through  which  we  were  running,  I 
doubted  that  there  was  a  boat  afloat.  It  did  not  seem  pos- 
sible that  such  frail  craft  could  survive  such  stress  of  wind 
and  water. 

I  could  not  feel  the  full  force  of  the  wind,  for  we  were 
running  with  it ;  but  from  my  lofty  perch  I  looked  down  as 
though  outside  the  Ghost  and  apart  from  her,  and  saw  the 
shape  of  her  outlined  sharply  against  the  foaming  sea  as 
she  tore  along  instinct  with  life.  Sometimes  she  would 
lift  and  send  across  some  great  wave,  burying  her  star- 
board rail  from  view,  and  covering  her  deck  to  the  hatches 
with  the  boiling  ocean.  At  such  moments,  starting  from 
a  windward  roll,  I  would  go  flying  through  the  air  with 
dizzying  swiftness,  as  though  I  clung  to  the  end  of  a  huge, 
inverted  pendulum,  the  arc  of  which,  between  the  greater 
rolls,  must  have  been  seventy  feet  or  more.  Once,  the 
terror  of  this  giddy  sweep  overpowered  me,  and  for  a  while 
I  clung  on,  hand  and  foot,  weak  and  trembling,  unable  to 
search  the  sea  for  the  missing  boats  or  to  behold  aught  of 
the  sea  but  that  which  roared  beneath  and  strove  to  over- 
whelm  the  Ghost. 

But  the  thought  of  the  men  in  the  midst  of  it  steadied 

M 


1 62  THE  SEA-WOLF 

me,  and  in  my  quest  for  them  I  forgot  myself.  For  an 
hour  I  saw  nothing  but  the  naked,  desolate  sea.  And 
then,  where  a  vagrant  shaft  of  sunlight  struck  the  ocean 
and  turned  its  surface  to  wrathful  silver,  I  caught  a  small 
black  speck  thrust  skyward  for  an  instant  and  swallowed 
up.  I  waited  patiently.  Again  the  tiny  point  of  black 
projected  itself  through  the  wrathful  blaze  a  couple  of 
points  off  our  port-bow.  I  did  not  attempt  to  shout,  but 
communicated  the  news  to  Wolf  Larsen  by  waving  my 
arm.  He  changed  the  course,  and  I  signalled  affirmation 
when  the  speck  showed  dead  ahead. 

Jt  grew  larger,  and  so  swiftly  that  for  the  first  time  I 
fully  appreciated  the  speed  of  our  flight.  Wolf  Larsen 
motioned  for  me  to  come  down,  and  when  I  stood  beside 
him  at  the  wheel  gave  me  instructions  for  heaving  to. 

"Expect  all  hell  to  break  loose/'  he  cautioned  me,  "but 
don't  mind  it.  Yours  is  to  do  your  own  work  and  to  have 
Cooky  stand  by  the  fore-sheet." 

I  managed  to  make  my  way  forward,  but  there  was  little 
choice  of  sides,  for  the  weather-rail  seemed  buried  as  often 
as  the  lee.  Having  instructed  Thomas  Mugridge  as  to 
what  he  was  to  do,  I  clambered  into  the  fore  rigging  a  few 
feet.  The  boat  was  now  very  close,  and  I  could  make  out 
plainly  that  it  was  lying  head  to  wind  and  sea  and  drag- 
ging on  its  mast  and  sail,  which  had  been  thrown  over- 
board and  made  to  serve  as  a  sea-anchor.  The  three  men 
were  bailing.  Each  rolling  mountain  whelmed  them  from 
view,  and  I  would  wait  with  sickening  anxiety,  fearing 
that  they  would  never  appear  again.  Then,  and  with 
black  suddenness,  the  boat  would  shoot  clear  through  the 
foaming  crest,  bow  pointed  to  the  sky,  and  the  whole 
length  of  her  bottom  showing,  wet  and  dark,  till  she 
seemed  on  end.  There  would  be  a  fleeting  glimpse  of 


THE  SEA-WOLF  163 

the  three  men  flinging  water  in  frantic  haste,  when  she 
would  topple  over  and  fall  into  the  yawning  valley,  bow 
down  and  showing  her  full  inside  length  to  the  stern  up- 
reared  almost  directly  above  the  bow.  Each  time  that  she 
reappeared  was  a  miracle. 

The  Ghost  suddenly  changed  her  course,  keeping  away, 
and  it  came  to  me  with  a  shock  that  Wolf  Larsen  was 
giving  up  the  rescue  as  impossible.  Then  I  realized 
that  he  was  preparing  to  heave  to,  and  dropped  to  the 
deck  to  be  in  readiness.  We  were  now  dead  before 
the  wind,  the  boat  far  away  and  abreast  of  us.  I  felt 
an  abrupt  easing  of  the  schooner,  a  loss  for  the  moment 
of  all  strain  and  pressure,  coupled  with  a  swift  acceleration 
of  speed.  She  was  rushing  around  on  her  heel  into  the 
wind. 

As  she  arrived  at  right  angles  to  the  sea,  the  full  force 
of  the  wind,  (from  which  we  had  hitherto  run  away), 
caught  us.  I  was  unfortunately  and  ignorantly  facing  it. 
It  stood  up  against  me  like  a  wall,  filling  my  lungs  with 
air  which  I  could  not  expel.  And  as  I  choked  and 
strangled,  and  as  the  Ghost  wallowed  for  an  instant,  broad- 
side on  and  rolling  straight  over  and  far  into  the  wind,  I 
beheld  a  huge  sea  rise  far  above  my  head.  I  turned  aside, 
caught  my  breath,  and  looked  again.  The  wave  overtopped 
the  Ghost,  and  I  gazed  sheer  up  and  into  it.  A  shaft  of 
sunlight  smote  the  over-curl,  and  I  caught  a  glimpse  of 
translucent,  rushing  green,  backed  by  a  milky  smother 
of  foam. 

Then  it  descended,  pandemonium  broke  loose,  every- 
thing happened  at  once.  I  was  struck  a  crushing,  stun- 
ning blow,  nowhere  in  particular  and  yet  everywhere. 
My  hold  had  been  broken  loose,  I  was  under  water,  and 
the  thought  passed  through  my  mind  that  this  was  the 


164  THE  SEA-WOLF 

terrible  thing  of  which  I  had  heard,  the  being  swept  in  the 
trough  of  the  sea.  My  body  struck  and  pounded  as  it  was 
dashed  helplessly  along  and  turned  over  and  over,  and 
when  I  could  hold  my  breath  no  longer,  I  breathed  the 
stinging  salt  water  into  my  lungs.  But  through  it  all  I 
clung  to  the  one  idea  —  I  must  get  the  jib  backed  over  to 
windward.  I  had  no  fear  of  death.  I  had  no  doubt  but 
that  I  should  come  through  somehow.  And  as  this  idea  of 
fulfilling  Wolf  Larsen's  order  persisted  in  my  dazed  con- 
sciousness, I  seemed  to  see  him  standing  at  the  wheel  in 
the  midst  of  the  wild  welter,  pitting  his  will  against  the 
will  of  the  storm  and  defying  it. 

I  brought  up  violently  against  what  I  took  to  be  the  rail, 
breathed,  and  breathed  the  sweet  air  again.  I  tried  to 
rise,  but  struck  my  head  and  was  knocked  back  on  hands 
and  knees.  By  some  freak  of  the  waters  I  had  been  swept 
clear  under  the  forecastle-head  and  into  the  eyes.  As  I 
scrambled  out  on  all  fours,  I  passed  over  the  body  of 
Thomas  Mugridge,  who  lay  in  a  groaning  heap.  There 
was  no  time  to  investigate.  I  must  get  the  jib  backed 
over. 

When  I  emerged  on  deck  it  seemed  that  the  end  of 
everything  had  come.  On  all  sides  there  was  a  rending 
and  crashing  of  wood  and  steel  and  canvas.  The  Ghost 
was  being  wrenched  and  torn  to  fragments.  The  foresail 
and  fore  topsail,  emptied  of  the  wind  by  the  manoeuvre, 
and  with  no  one  to  bring  in  the  sheet  in  time,  were  thun- 
dering into  ribbons,  the  heavy  boom  threshing  and  splin- 
tering from  rail  to  rail.  The  air  was  thick  with  flying 
wreckage,  detached  ropes  and  stays  were  hissing  and  coil- 
ing like  snakes,  and  down  through  it  all  crashed  the  gaff 
of  the  foresail. 

The  spar  could  not   have  missed  me  by  many  inches. 


THE  SEA-WOLF  165 

while  it  spurred  me  to  action.  Perhaps  the  situation  was 
not  hopeless.  I  remembered  Wolf  Larsen's  caution.  He 
had  expected  all  hell  to  break  loose,  and  here  it  was.  And 
where  was  he  ?  I  caught  sight  of  him  toiling  at  the  main 
sheet,  heaving  it  in  and  flat  with  his  tremendous  muscles, 
the  stern  of  the  schooner  lifted  high  in  the  air  and  his  body 
outlined  against  a  white  surge  of  sea  sweeping  past.  All 
this,  and  more,  —  a  whole  world  of  chaos  and  wreck,  —  in 
possibly  fifteen  seconds  I  had  seen  and  heard  and  grasped. 

I  did  not  stop  to  see  what  had  become  of  the  small  boat, 
but  sprang  to  the  jib-sheet.  The  jib  itself  was  beginning 
to  slap,  partially  filling  and  emptying  with  sharp  reports ; 
but  with  a  turn  of  the  sheet  and  the  application  of  my 
whole  strength  each  time  it  slapped,  I  slowly  backed  it 
This  I  know :  I  did  my  best.  I  pulled  till  I  burst  open  the 
ends  of  all  my  fingers;  and  while  I  pulled,  the  flying-jib 
and  staysail  split  their  cloths  apart  and  thundered  into 
nothingness. 

Still  I  pulled,  holding  what  I  gained  each  time  with  a 
double  turn  until  the  next  slap  gave  me  more.  Then  the 
sheet  gave  with  greater  ease,  and  Wolf  Larsen  was  beside 
me,  heaving  in  alone  while  I  was  busied  taking  up  the 
slack. 

"  Make  fast ! "  he  shouted.     "  And  come  on  ! " 

As  I  followed  him,  I  noted  that  in  spite  of  rack  and 
ruin  a  rough  order  obtained.  The  Ghost  was  hove  to. 
She  was  still  in  working  order,  and  she  was  still  working. 
Though  the  rest  of  her  sails  were  gone,  the  jib,  backed  to 
windward,  and  the  mainsail  hauled  down  flat,  were  them- 
selves holding,  and  holding  her  bow  to  the  furious  sea  as 
well. 

I  looked  for  the  boat,  and,  while  Wolf  Larsen  cleared 
the  boat- tackles,  saw  it  lift  to  leeward  on  a  big  sea  and  no? 


1 66  THE  SEA-WOLF 

a  score  of  feet  away.  And,  so  nicely  had  he  nfade  his  cal- 
culation, we  drifted  fairly  down  upon  it,  so  that  nothing 
remained  to  do  but  hook  the  tackles  to  either  end  and 
hoist  it  aboard.  But  this  was  not  done  so  easily  as  it  is 
written. 

In  the  bow  was  Kerfoot,  Oofty-Oofty  in  the  stern, 
and  Kelly  amidships.  As  we  drifted  closer,  the  boat  would 
rise  on  a  wave  while  we  sank  in  the  trough,  till  almost 
straight  above  me  I  could  see  the  heads  of  the  three  men 
craned  overside  and  looking  down.  Then,  the  next 
moment,  we  would  lift  and  soar  upward  while  they  sank 
far  down  beneath  us.  It  seemed  incredible  that  the  next 
surge  should  not  crush  the  Ghost  down  upon  the  tiny 
eggshell. 

But,  at  the  right  moment,  I  passed  the  tackle  to  the 
Kanaka,  while  Wolf  Larsen  did  the  same  thing  forward  to 
Kerfoot.  Both  tackles  were  hooked  in  a  trice,  and  the 
three  men,  deftly  timing  the  roll,  made  a  simultaneous 
leap  aboard  the  schooner.  As  the  Ghost  rolled  her  side 
out  of  water,  the  boat  was  lifted  snugly  against  her,  and 
before  the  return  roll  came,  we  had  heaved  it  in  over  the 
side  and  turned  it  bottom  up  on  the  deck.  I  noticed  blood 
spouting  from  Kerfoot's  left  hand.  In  some  way  the  third 
finger  had  been  crushed  to  a  pulp.  But  he  gave  no  sign 
of  pain,  and  with  his  single  right  hand  helped  us  lash  the 
boat  in  its  place. 

"  Stand  by  to  let  that  jib  over,  you  Oofty !  "  Wolf  Lar- 
sen commanded,  the  very  second  we  had  finished  with  the 
boat.  "  Kelly,  come  aft  and  slack  off  the  main-sheet ! 
You,  Kerfoot,  go  for'ard  and  see  what's  become  of  Cooky!- 
Mr.  Van  Weyden,  run  aloft  again,  and  cut  away  any  stray 
stuff  on  your  way  !  " 

And  having  commanded,  he  went  aft  with  his  peculiar 


THE  SEA-WOLF  1 67 

tigerish  leaps,  to  the  wheel.  While  I  toiled  up  the  fore- 
shrouds  the  Ghost  slowly  paid  off.  This  time,  as  we  went 
into  the  trough  of  the  sea  and  were  swept,  there  were  no 
sails  to  carry  away.  And,  halfway  to  the  crosstrees  and 
flattened  against  the  rigging  by  the  full  force  of  the  wind 
so  that  it  would  have  been  impossible  for  me  to  have  fallen, 
the  Ghost  almost  on  her  beam  ends  and  the  masts  parallel 
with  the  water,  I  looked,  not  down,  but  at  almost  right  angles 
from  the  perpendicular,  to  the  deck  of  the  Ghost.  But  I 
saw,  not  the  deck,  but  where  the  deck  should  have  been, 
for  it  was  buried  beneath  a  wild  tumbling  of  water.  Out 
of  this  water  I  could  see  the  two  masts  rising,  and  that 
was  all.  The  Ghost,  for  the  moment,  was  buried  beneath 
the  sea.  As  she  squared  off  more  and  more,  escaping  from 
the  side  pressure,  she  righted  herself  and  broke  her  deck, 
like  a  whale's  back,  through  the  ocean  surface. 

Then  we  raced,  and  wildly,  across  the  wild  sea,  the 
while  I  hung  like  a  fly  in  the  crosstrees  and  searched  for 
the  other  boats.  In  half  an  hour  I  sighted  the  second  one, 
swamped  and  bottom  up,  to  which  were  desperately  cling- 
-ing  Jock  Horner,  fat  Louis,  and  Johnson.  This  time  I 
remained  aloft,  and  Wolf  Larsen  succeeded  in  heaving 
to  without  being  swept.  As  before,  we  drifted  down  upon  it. 
Tackles  were  made  fast  and  lines  flung  to  the  men,  who 
scrambled  aboard  like  monkeys.  The  boat  itself  was 
crushed  and  splintered  against  the  schooner's  side  as  it 
came  inboard ;  but  the  wreck  was  securely  lashed,  for  it 
could  be  patched  and  made  whole  again. 

Once  more  the  Ghost  bore  away  before  the  storm,  this 
time  so  submerging  herself  that  for  some  seconds  I  thought 
she  would  never  reappear.  Even  the  wheel,  quite  a  deal 
higher  than  the  waist,  was  covered  and  swept  again  and 
again.  At  such  moments  I  felt  strangely  alon^  with  God, 


1 68  THE  SEA-WOLF 

alone  with  him  and  watching  the  chaos  of  his  wrath.  And 
then  the  wheel  would  reappear,  and  Wolf  Larsen's  broad 
shoulders,  his  hands  gripping  the  spokes  and  holding  the 
schooner  to  the  course  of  his  will,  himself  an  earth-god, 
dominating  the  storm,  flinging  its  descending  waters  from 
him  and  riding  it  to  his  own  ends.  And  oh,  the  marvel  of 
it!  the  marvel  of  it!  That  tiny  men  should  live  and 
breathe  and  work,  and  drive  so  frail  a  contrivance  of  wood 
and  cloth  through  so  tremendous  an  elemental  strife ! 

As  before,  the  Ghost  swung  out  of  the  trough,  lifting 
her  deck  again  out  of  the  sea,  and  dashed  before  the  howl- 
ing blast.  It  was  now  half-past  five,  and  half  an  hour 
later,  when  the  last  of  the  day  lost  itself  in  a  dim  and  furi- 
ous twilight,  I  sighted  a  third  boat.  It  was  bottom  up, 
and  there  was  no  sign  of  its  crew.  Wolf  Larsen  repeated 
his  manoeuvre,  holding  off  and  then  rounding  up  to  wind- 
ward and  drifting  down  upon  it.  But  this  time  he  missed 
by  forty  feet,  the  boat  passing  astern. 

"  Number  four  boat !  "  Oofty-Oofty  cried,  his  keen  eyes 
reading  its  number  in  the  one  second  when  it  lifted  clear 
of  the  foam  and  upside  down. 

It  was  Henderson's  boat,  and  with  him  had  been  lost 
Holyoak  and  Williams,  another  of  the  deep-water  crowd. 
Lost  they  indubitably  were ;  but  the  boat  remained,  and 
Wolf  Larsen  made  one  more  reckless  effort  to  recover  it. 
I  had  come  down  to  the  deck,  and  I  saw  Horner  and  Ker- 
foot  vainly  protest  against  the  attempt. 

"  By  God,  I'll  not  be  robbed  of  my  boat  by  any  storm 
that  ever  blew  out  of  hell ! "  he  shouted,  and  though  we 
four  stood  with  our  heads  together  that  we  might  hear,  his 
voice  seemed  faint  and  far,  as  though  removed  from  us  an 
immense  distance. 

"  Mr.  Van  Weyden ! "  he  cried,  and  I  heard  through 


THE  SEA-WOLF  169 

the  tumult  as  one  might  hear  a  whisper.  "  Stand  by  that 
jib  with  Johnson  and  Oofty !  The  rest  of  you  tail  aft  to 
the  main  sheet!  Lively  now!  Or  I'll  sail  you  all  into 
Kingdom  Come !  Understand  ? " 

And  when  he  put  the  wheel  hard  over  and  the  Ghost's 
bow  swung  off,  there  was  nothing  for  the  hunters  to  do 
but  obey  and  make  the  best  of  a  risky  chance.  How 
great  the  risk  I  realized  when  I  was  once  more  buried 
beneath  the  pounding  seas  and  clinging  for  life  to  the  pin- 
rail  at  the  foot  of  the  foremast.  My  ringers  were  torn 
loose,  and  I  swept  across  to  the  side  and  over  the  side 
into  the  sea.  I  could  not  swim,  but  before  I  could  sink  I 
was  swept  back  again.  A  strong  hand  gripped  me,  and 
when  the  Ghost  finally  emerged,  I  found  that  I  owed  my 
life  to  Johnson.  I  saw  him  looking  anxiously  about  him, 
and  noted  that  Kelly,  who  had  come  forward  at  the  last 
moment,  was  missing. 

This  time,  having  missed  the  boat  and  not  being  in  the 
same  position  as  in  the  previous  instances,  Wolf  Larsen 
was  compelled  to  resort  to  a  different  manoeuvre.  Running 
off  before  the  wind  with  everything  to  starboard,  he  came 
about  and  returned  close-hauled  on  the  port  tack. 

"  Grand ! "  Johnson  shouted  in  my  ear,  as  we  success- 
fully came  through  the  attendant  deluge,  and  I  knew  he 
referred,  not  to  Wolf  Larsen's  seamanship,  but  to  the  per- 
formance of  'the  Ghost  herself. 

It  was  now  so  dark  that  there  was  no  sign  of  the  boat ; 
but  Wolf  Larsen  held  back  througlvthe  frightful  turmoil  as 
if  guided  by  unerring  instinct.  This  time,  though  we  were 
continually  half-buried,  there  was  no  trough  in  which  to 
be  swept,  and  we  drifted  squarely  down  upon  the  up- 
turned boat,  badly  smashing  it  as  it  was  heaved  inboard. 

Two  hours  of  terrible  work  followed,  in  which  all  hands 


170  THE  SEA-WOLF 

of  us,  —  two  hunters,  three  sailors,  Wolf  Larsen,  and  I,  — 
reefed,  first  one  and  then  the  other,  the  jib  and  mainsail 
Hove  to  under  this  short  canvas,  our  decks  were  compara- 
tively free  of  water,  while  the  Ghost  bobbed  and  ducked 
amongst  the  combers  like  a  cork. 

I  had  burst  open  the  ends  of  my  fingers  at  the  very 
first,  and  during  the  reefing  I  had  worked  with  tears  of 
pain  running  down  my  cheeks.  And  when  all  was  done, 
I  gave  up  like  a  woman  and  rolled  upon  the  deck  in  the 
agony  of  exhaustion. 

In  the  meantime  Thomas  Mugridge,  like  a  drowned  rat, 
was  being  dragged  out  from  under  the  forecastle  head 
where  he  had  cravenly  ensconced  himself.  I  saw  him 
pulled  aft  to  the  cabin  and  noted  with  a  shock  of  surprise 
that  the  galley  had  disappeared.  A  clean  space  of  deck 
showed  where  it  had  stood. 

In  the  cabin  I  found  all  hands  assembled,  sailors  as  well, 
and  while  coffee  was  being  cooked  over  the  small  stove  we 
drank  whiskey  and  crunched  hardtack.  Never  in  my  life 
had  food  been  so  welcome.  And  never  had  hot  coffee 
tasted  so  good.  So  violently  did  the  Ghost  pitch  and  toss 
and  tumble  that  it  was  impossible  for  even  the  sailors  to 
move  about  without  holding  on,  and  several  times,  after  a 
cry  of  "  Now  she  takes  it !  "  we  were  heaped  upon  the 
wall  of  the  port  cabins  as  though  it  had  been  the  deck. 

"To  hell  with  a  lookout,"  I  heard  Wolf  Larsen  say 
when  we  had  eaten  and  drunk  our  fill.  "There's  nothing 
can  be  done  on  deck.  If  anything's  going  to  run  us  down 
we  couldn't  get  out  of  its  way.  Turn  in,  all  hands,  and  get 
some  sleep." 

The  sailors  slipped  forward,  setting  the  side-lights  as  they 
went,  while  the  two  hunters  remained  to  sleep  in  the  cabin, 
it  not  being  deemed  advisable  to  open  the  slide  to  the 


THE  SEA-WOLF  I?I 

steerage  companionway.  Wolf  Larsen  and  I,  between  us, 
cut  off  Kerfoot's  crushed  finger  and  sewed  up  the  stump. 
Mugridge,  who,  during  all  the  time  he  had  been  compelled 
to  cook  and  serve  coffee  and  keep  the  fire  going,  had  com- 
plained of  internal  pains,  now  swore  that  he  had  a  broken 
rib  or  two.  On  examination  we  found  that  he  had  three. 
But  his  case  was  deferred  to  next  day,  principally  for  the 
reason  that  I  did  not  know  anything  about  broken  ribs 
and  would  first  have  to  read  it  up. 

"  I  don't  think  it  was  worth  it,"  I  said  to  Wolf  Larsen, 
"  a  broken  boat  for  Kelly's  life." 

"But  Kelly  didn't  amount  to  much,"  was  the  reply. 
"Good  night." 

After  all  that  had  passed,  suffering  intolerable  anguish 
in  my  finger  ends,  and  with  three  boats  missing,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  wild  capers  the  Ghost  was  cutting,  I  should 
have  thought  it  impossible  to  sleep.  But  my  eyes  must 
have  closed  the  instant  my  head  touched  the  pillow,  and 
in  utter  exhaustion  I  slept  throughout  the  night,  the 
while  the  Ghost,  lonely  and  undirected,  fought  her  way 
through  the  storm. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  next  day,  while  the  storm  was  blowing  itself  out, 
Wolf  Larsen  and  I  crammed  anatomy  and  surgery  and 
set  Mugridge's  ribs.  Then,  when  the  storm  broke,  Wolf 
Larsen  cruised  back  and  forth  over  that  portion  of  the 
ocean  where  we  had  encountered  it,  and  somewhat  more 
to  the  westward,  while  the  boats  were  being  repaired  and 
new  sails  made  and  bent.  Sealing  schooner  after  sealing 
schooner  we  sighted  and  boarded,  most  of  which  were  in 
search  of  lost  boats,  and  most  of  which  were  carrying  boats 
and  crews  they  had  picked  up  and  which  did  not  belong 
to  them.  For  the  thick  of  the  fleet  had  been  to  the  west- 
ward of  us,  and  the  boats,  scattered  far  and  wide,  had 
headed  in  mad  flight  for  the  nearest  refuge. 

Two  of  our  boats,  with  men  all  safe,  we  took  off  the 
Cisco,  and,  to  Wolf  Larsen's  huge  delight  and  my  own 
grief,  he  culled  Smoke,  with  Nilson  and  Leach,  from  the 
San  Diego.  So  that,  at  the  end  of  five  days,  we  found 
ourselves  short  but  four  men,  —  Henderson,  Holyoak, 
Williams,  and  Kelly,  —  and  were  once  more  hunting  on 
the  flanks  of  the  herd. 

As  we  followed  it  north  we  began  to  encounter  the 
dreaded  sea-fogs.  Day  after  day  the  boats  lowered  and 
were  swallowed  up  almost  ere  they  touched  the  water, 
while  we  on  board  pumped  the  horn  at  regular  intervals 
and  every  fifteen  minutes  fired  the  bomb  gun.  Boats  were 
continually  being  lost  and  found,  it  being  the  custom  for 
a  boat  to  hunt,  on  lay,  with  whatever  schooner  picked  it 

172 


THE  SEA- WOLF  173 

up,  until  such  time  it  was  recovered  by  its  own  schooner. 
But  Wolf  Larsen,  as  was  to  be  expected,  being  a  boat 
short,  took  possession  of  the  first  stray  one  and  compelled 
its  men  to  hunt  with  the  Ghost,  not  permitting  them  to 
return  to  their  own  schooner  when  we  sighted  it.  1  re- 
member how  he  forced  the  hunter  and  his  two  men  below, 
a  rifle  at  their  breasts,  when  their  captain  passed  by  at 
biscuit-toss  and  hailed  us  for  information. 

Thomas  Mugridge,  so  strangely  and  pertinaciously  cling- 
ing to  life,  was  soon  limping  about  again  and  performing 
his  double  duties  of  cook  and  cabin-boy.  Johnson  and 
Leach  were  bullied  and  beaten  as  much  as  ever,  and  they 
looked  for  their  lives  to  end  with  the  end  of  the  hunting 
season ;  while  the  rest  of  the  crew  lived  the  lives  of  dogs 
and  were  worked  like  dogs  by  their  pitiless  master.  As 
for  Wolf  Larsen  and  myself,  we  got  along  fairly  well; 
though  I  could  not  quite  rid  myself  of  the  idea  that  right 
conduct,  for  me,  lay  in  killing  him.  He  fascinated  me 
immeasurably,  and  I  feared  him  immeasurably.  And  yet, 
I  could  not  imagine  him  lying  prone  in  death.  There  was 
an  endurance,  as  of  perpetual  youth,  about  him,  which  rose 
up  and  forbade  the  picture.  I  could  see  him  only  as  living 
always,  and  dominating  always,  fighting  and  destroying, 
himself  surviving. 

One  diversion  of  his,  when  we  were  in  the  midst  of  the 
herd  and  the  sea  was  too  rough  to  lower  the  boats,  was  to 
lower  with  two  boat  pullers  and  a  steerer  and  go  out  him- 
self. He  was  a  good  shot,  too,  and  brought  many  a  skin 
aboard  under  what  the  hunters  termed  Impossible  hunt- 
ing conditions.  It  seemed  the  breath  of  his  nostrils,  this 
carrying  his  life  in  his  hands  and  struggling  for  it  against 
tremendous  odds. 

I  was  learning  more  and  more  seamanship ;  and  one 


1/4  THE  SEA-WOLF 

clear  day,  —  a  thing  we  rarely  encountered  now,  —  I  had 
the  satisfaction  of  running  and  handling  the  Ghost  and 
picking  up  the  boats  myself.  Wolf  Larsen  had  been 
smitten  with  one  of  his  headaches,  and  I  stood  at  the 
wheel  from  morning  until  evening,  sailing  across  the 
ocean  after  the  last  lee  boat  and  heaving  to  and  picking 
it  and  the  other  five  up  without  command  or  suggestion 
from  him. 

Gales  we  encountered  now  and  again,  for  it  was  a  raw 
and  stormy  region,  and,  in  the  middle  of  June,  a  typhoon 
most  memorable  to  me  and  most  important  because  of  the 
changes  wrought  through  it  upon  my  future.  We  must 
have  been  caught  nearly  at  the  centre  of  this  circular 
storm,  and  Wolf  Larsen  ran  out  of  it  and  to  the  south- 
ward, first  under  a  double-reefed  jib,  and  finally  under  bare 
poles.  Never  had  I  imagined  so  great  a  sea.  The  seas 
previously  encountered  were  as  ripples  compared  with 
these,  which  ran  a  half  mile  from  crest  to  crest  and  which 
upreared,  I  am  confident,  above  our  masthead.  So  great 
was  it  that  Wolf  Larsen  himself  did  not  dare  heave  to, 
though  he  was  being  driven  far  to  the  southward  and  out 
of  the  seal  herd. 

We  must  have  been  well  in  the  path  of  the  trans- 
Pacific  steamships  when  the  typhoon  moderated,  and  here, 
to  the  surprise  of  the  hunters,  we  found  ourselves  in  the 
rnidst  of  seals  —  a  second  herd,  or  sort  of  rear-guard,  they 
declared,  and  a  most  unusual  thing.  But  it  was  "  Boats 
over ! ",  the  boom-boom  of  guns,  and  the  pitiful  slaughter 
through  the  long  day. 

It  was  at  this  time  that  I  was  approached  by  Leach.  I 
had  just  finished  tallying  the  skins  of  the  last  boat  aboard, 
when  he  came  to  my  side,  in  the  darkness,  and  said  in  a 
low  tone : 


THE  SEA-WOLF 

"  Can  you  tell  me,  Mr.  Van  Weyden,  how  far  we  are  off 
the  coast,  and  what  the  bearings  of  Yokohama  are  ? " 

My  heart  leaped  with  gladness,  for  I  knew  what  he  had 
in  mind,  and  I  gave  him  the  bearings  —  west-northwest 
and  five  hundred  miles  away. 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  was  all  he  said  as  he  slipped  back 
into  the  darkness. 

Next  morning  No.  3  boat  and  Johnson  and  Leach  were 
missing.  The  water-breakers  and  grub  boxes  from  all  the 
other  boats  were  likewise  missing,  as  were  the  beds  and 
sea  bags  of  the  two  men.  Wolf  Larsen  was  furious.  He 
set  sail  and  bore  away  into  the  west-northwest,  two  hunters 
constantly  at  the  mastheads  and  sweeping  the  sea  with 
glasses,  himself  pacing  the  deck  like  an  angry  lion.  He 
knew  too  well  my  sympathy  for  the  runaways  to  send  me 
aloft  as  lookout. 

The  wind  was  fair  but  fitful,  and  it  was  like  looking  for 
a  needle  in  a  haystack  to  raise  that  tiny  boat  out  of  the 
blue  immensity.  But  he  put  the  Ghost  through  her  best 
paces  so  as  to  get  between  the  deserters  and  the  land. 
This  accomplished,  he  cruised  back  and  forth  across  what 
he  knew  must  be  their  course. 

On  the  morning  of  the  third  day,  shortly  after  eight 
bells,  a  cry  that  the  boat  was  sighted  came  down  from 
Smoke  at  the  masthead.  All  hands  lined  the  rail.  A 
snappy  breeze  was  blowing  from  the  west  with  the  prom- 
ise of  more  wind  behind  it;  and  there,  to  leeward,  in  the 
troubled  silver  of  the  rising  sun,  appeared  and  disappeared 
a  black  speck. 

We  squared  away  and  ran  for  it.  My  heart  was  as  lead. 
I  felt  myself  turning  sick  in  anticipation ;  and  as  I  looked 
at  the  gleam  of  triumph  in  Wolf  Larsen 's  eyes,  his  form 
swam  before  me  and  I  felt  almost  irresistibly  impelled  to 


176  THE  SEA-WOLF 

fling  myself  upon  him.  So  unnerved  was  I  by  the  thought 
of  impending  violence  to  Leach  and  Johnson  that  my 
reason  must  have  left  me.  I  know  that  I  slipped  down 
into  the  steerage  in  a  daze,  and  that  I  was  just  beginning 
the  ascent  to  the  deck,  a  loaded  shot-gun  in  my  hands, 
when  I  heard  the  startled  cry : 

"  There's  five  men  in  that  boat !  " 

I  supported  myself  in  the  companionway,  weak  and 
trembling,  while  the  observation  was  being  verified  by  the 
remarks  of  the  rest  of  the  men.  Then  my  knees  gave 
from  under  me  and  I  sank  down,  myself  again,  but  over- 
come by  shock  at  knowledge  of  what  I  had  so  nearly  done. 
Also,  I  was  very  thankful  as  I  put  the  gun  away  and 
slipped  back  on  deck. 

No  one  had  remarked  my  absence.  The  boat  was  near 
enough  for  us  to  make  out  that  it  was  larger  than  any 
sealing  boat  and  built  on  different  lines.  As  we  drew 
closer,  the  sail  was  taken  in  and  the  mast  unstepped.  Oars 
were  shipped,  and  its  occupants  waited  for  us  to  heave  to 
and  take  them  aboard. 

Smoke,  who  had  descended  to  the  deck  and  was  now 
standing  by  my  side,  began  to  chuckle  in  a  significant  way. 
I  looked  at  him  inquiringly. 

"Talk  of  a  mess  !  "  he  giggled. 

"  What's  wrong  ? "  I  demanded. 

Again  he  chuckled. 

"  Don't  you  see  there,  in  the  stern-sheets,  on  the 
bottom.  May  I  never  shoot  a  seal  again  if  that  ain't  a 
woman ! " 

I  looked  closely,  but  was  not  sure  until  exclamations 
broke  out  on  all  sides.  The  boat  contained  four  men,  and 
its  fifth  occupant  was  certainly  a  woman.  We  were  agog 
with  excitement,  all  except  Wolf  Larsen,  who  was  too 


THE  SEA-WOLF  177 

evidently  disappointed  in  that  it  was  not  his  own  boat  with 
the  two  victims  of  his  malice. 

We  ran  down  the  flying  jib,  hauled  the  jib-sheets  to  wind- 
ward and  the  main  sheet  flat,  and  came  up  into  the  wind. 
The  oars  struck  the  water,  and  with  a  few  strokes  the  boat 
was  alongside.  I  now  caught  my  first  fair  glimpse  of  the 
woman.  She  was  wrapped  in  a  long  ulster,  for  the  morn- 
ing was  raw ;  and  I  could  see  nothing  but  her  face  and  a 
mass  of  light  brown  hair  escaping  from  under  the  seaman's 
cap  on  her  head.  The  eyes  were  large  and  brown  and 
lustrous,  the  mouth  sweet  and  sensitive,  and  the  face  itself 
a  delicate  oval,  though  sun  and  exposure  to  briny  wind 
had  burnt  the  face  scarlet. 

She  seemed  to  me  like  a  being  from  another  world.  I 
was  aware  of  a  hungry  outreaching  for  her,  as  of  a  starv- 
ing man  for  bread.  But  then,  I  had  not  seen  a  woman 
for  a  very  long  time.  I  know  that  I  was  lost  in  a  great 
wonder,  almost  a  stupor,  —  this,  then,  was  a  woman  ?  -.—  so 
that  I  forgot  myself  and  my  mate's  duties,  and  took  no 
part  in  helping  the  newcomers  aboard.  For  when  one  of 
the  sailors  lifted  her  into  Wolf  Larsen's  down-stretched 
arms,  she  looked  up  into  our  curious  faces  and  smiled 
amusedly  and  sweetly,  as  only  a  woman  can  smile,  and  as 
I  had  seen  no  one  smile  for  so  long  that  I  had  forgotten 
such  smiles  existed. 

"  Mr.  Van  Weyden !  " 

Wolf  Larsen's  voice  brought  me  sharply  back  to  myself. 

"  Will  you  take  the  lady  below  and  see  to  her  comfort  ? 
Make  up  that  spare  port  cabin.  Put  Cooky  to  work  on 
it.  And  see  what  you  can  do  for  that  face.  It's  burned 
badly.'1 

He  turned  brusquely  away  from  us  and  began  to  ques- 
tion the  new  men.  The  boat  was  cast  adrift,  though  one 

N 


178  THE  SEA-WOLF 

of  them  called  it  a  "bloody  shame"  with  Yokohama  so 
near. 

I  found  myself  strangely  afraid  of  this  woman  I  was  es- 
corting aft.  Also  I  was  awkward.  It  seemed  to  me  that 
I  was  realizing  for  the  first  time  what  a  delicate,  fragile 
creature  a  woman  is;  and  as  I  caught  her  arm  to  help 
her  down  the  companion  stairs,  I  was  startled  by  its  small- 
ness  and  softness.  Indeed,  she  was  a  slender,  delicate 
woman  as  women  go,  but  to  me  she  was  so  ethereally  slen- 
der and  delicate  that  I  was  quite  prepared  for  her  arm  to 
crumble  in  my  grasp.  All  this,  in  frankness,  to  show  my 
first  impression,  after  long  denial,  of  women  in  general 
and  of  Maud  Brewster  in  particular. 

"  No  need  to  go  to  any  great  trouble  for  me,"  she  pro- 
tested, when  I  had  seated  her  in  Wolf  Larsen's  arm-chair, 
which  I  had  dragged  hastily  from  his  cabin.  "  The  men 
were  looking  for  land  at  any  moment  this  morning,  and 
the  vessel  should  be  in  by  night;  don't  you  think  so ? " 

Her  simple  faith  in  the  immediate  future  took  me  aback. 
How  could  I  explain  to  her  the  situation,  the  strange  man 
who  stalked  the  sea  like  Destiny,  all  that  it  had  taken  me 
months  to  learn  ?  But  I  answered  honestly : 

"  If  it  were  any  other  captain  except  ours,  I  should  say 
you  would  be  ashore  in  Yokohama  to-morrow.  But  our 
captain  is  a  strange  man,  and  I  beg  of  you  to  be  prepared 
for  anything,  understand?  —  for  anything." 

"I — I  confess  I  hardly  do  understand,"  she  hesitated, 
a  perturbed  but  not  frightened  expression  in  her  eyes. 
"  Or  is  it  a  misconception  of  mine  that  shipwrecked  people 
are  always  shown  every  consideration  ?  This  is  such  a 
little  thing,  you  know.  We  are  so  close  to  land." 

"  Candidly,  I  do  not  know,"  I  strove  to  reassure  her. 
"  I  wished  merely  to  prepare  you  for  the  worst,  if  the  worst 


THE  SEA-WOLF 


179 


is  to  come.  This  man,  this  captain,  is  a  brute,  a  demon, 
and  one  can  never  tell  what  will  be  his  next  fantastic  act." 

I  was  growing  excited,  but  she  interrupted  me  with  an 
"  Oh,  I  see,"  and  her  voice  sounded  weary.  To  think  was 
patently  an  effort.  She  was  clearly  on  the  verge  of  physi- 
cal collapse. 

She  asked  no  further  questions,  and  I  vouchsafed  no 
remarks,  devoting  myself  to  Wolf  Larsen's  command, 
which  was  to  make  her  comfortable.  I  bustled  about  in 
quite  housewifely  fashion,  procuring  soothing  lotions  for 
her  sunburn,  raiding  Wolf  Larsen's  private  stores  for  a 
bottle  of  port  I  knew  to  be  there,  and  directing  Thomas 
Mugridge  in  the  preparation  of  the  spare  state-room. 

The  wind  was  freshening  rapidly,  the  Ghost  heeling 
over  more  and  more,  and  by  the  time  the  state-room  was 
ready  she  was  dashing  through  the  water  at  a  lively 
clip.  I  had  quite  forgotten  the  existence  of  Leach  and 
Johnson,  when  suddenly,  like  a  thunderclap,  "  Boat  ho ! " 
came  down  the  open  companionway.  It  was  Smoke's 
unmistakable  voice,  crying  from  the  masthead.  I  shot  a 
glance  at  the  woman,  but  she  was  leaning  back  in  the  arm- 
chair, her  eyes  closed,  unutterably  tired.  I  doubted  that 
she  had  heard,  and  I  resolved  to  prevent  her  seeing  the 
brutality  I  knew  would  follow  the  capture  of  the  deserters. 
She  was  tired.  Very  good.  She  should  sleep. 

There  were  swift  commands  on  deck,  a  stamping  of 
feet  and  a  slapping  of  reef-points  as  the  Ghost  shot  into 
the  wind  and  about  on  the  other  tack.  As  she  filled  away 
and  heeled,  the  arm-chair  began  to  slide  across  the  cabin 
floor,  and  I  sprang  for  it  just  in  time  to  prevent  the  res- 
cued woman  from  being  spilled  out. 

Her  eyes  were  too  heavy  to  suggest  more  than  a  hint 
of  the  sleepy  surprise  that  perplexed  her  as  she  looked 


ISO  THE  SEA- WOLF 

up  at  me,  and  she  half  stumbled,  half  tottered,  as  I  led  her 
to  her  cabin.  Mugridge  grinned  insinuatingly  in  my  face 
as  I  shoved  him  out  and  ordered  him  back  to  his  galley 
work;  and  he  won  his  revenge  by  spreading  glowing 
reports  among  the  hunters  as  to  what  an  excellent  "  lydy's 
myde  "  I  was  proving  myself  to  be. 

She  leaned  heavily  against  me,  and  I  do  believe  that 
she  had  fallen  asleep  again  between  the  arm-chair  and  the 
state-room.  This  I  discovered  when  she  nearly  fell  into 
the  bunk  during  a  sudden  lurch  of  the  schooner.  She 
aroused,  smiled  drowsily,  and  was  off  to  sleep  again ; 
and  asleep  I  left  her,  under  a  heavy  pair  of  sailor's  blan- 
kets, her  head  resting  on  a  pillow  I  had  appropriated  from 
Wolf  Larsen's  bunk. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

I  CAME  on  deck  to  find  the  Ghost  heading  up  close  on 
the  port  tack  and  cutting  in  to  windward  of  a  familiar 
spritsail  close-hauled  on  the  same  tack  ahead  of  us.  All 
hands  were  on  deck,  for  they  knew  that  something  was  to 
happen  when  Leach  and  Johnson  were  dragged  aboard. 

It  was  four  bells.  Louis  came  aft  to  relieve  the  wheel. 
There  was  a  dampness  in  the  air,  and  I  noticed  he  had  on 
his  oilskins. 

"  What  are  we  going  to  have  ? "  I  asked  him. 

"  A  healthy  young  slip  of  a  gale  from  the  breath  iv  it, 
sir,"  he  answered,  "with  a  splatter  iv  rain  just  to  wet  our 
gills  an'  no  more." 

"  Too  bad  we  sighted  them,"  I  said,  as  the  Ghost's  bow 
was  flung  off  a  point  by  a  large  sea  and  the  boat  leaped 
for  a  moment  past  the  jibs  and  into  our  line  of  vision. 

Louis  gave  a  spoke  and  temporized.  "  They'd  never  iv 
made  the  land,  sir,  I'm  thinkin'." 

"  Think  not  ? "  I  queried. 

"  No,  sir.  Did  you  feel  that  ? "  (A  puff  had  caught 
the  schooner,  and  he  was  forced  to  put  the  wheel  up 
rapidly  to  keep  her  out  of  the  wind.)  "  'Tis  no  egg-shelFll 
float  on  this  sea  an  hour  come,  an'  it's  a  stroke  iv  luck  for 
them  we're  here  to  pick  'em  up." 

Wolf  Larsen  strode  aft  from  amidships,  where  he  had 
been  talking  with  the  rescued  men.  The  catlike  springi- 
ness in  his  tread  was  a  little  more  pronounced  than  usual, 
and  his  eyes  were  bright  and  snappy. 

181 


1 82  THE   SEA-WOLF 

"  Three  oilers  and  a  fourth  engineer,"  was  his  greeting. 
"  But  we'll  make  sailors  out  of  them,  or  boat-pullers  at  any 
rate.  Now,  what  of  the  lady  ?  " 

I  know  not  why,  but  I  was  aware  of  a  twinge  or  pang, 
like  the  cut  of  a  knife,  when  he  mentioned  her.  I  thought 
it  a  certain  silly  fastidiousness  on  my  part,  but  it  persisted 
in  spite  of  me,  and  I  merely  shrugged  my  shoulders  in 
answer. 

Wolf  Larsen  pursed  his  lips  in  a  long,  quizzical  whistle. 

"  What's  her  name,  then  ? "  he  demanded. 

"  I  don't  know,"  I  replied.  "  She  is  asleep.  She  was 
very  tired.  In  fact,  I  am  waiting  to  hear  the  news  from 
you.  What  vessel  was  it  ? " 

"  Mail  steamer,"  he  answered  shortly.  "  The  City  of 
Tokio,  from  'Frisco,  bound  for  Yokohama.  Disabled  in 
that  typhoon.  Old  tub.  Opened  up  top  and  bottom  like 
a  sieve.  They  were  adrift  four  days.  And  you  don't 
know  who  or  what  she  is,  eh  ?  —  maid,  wife,  or  widow  ? 
Well,  well." 

He  shook  his  head  in  a  bantering  way,  and  regarded  me 
with  laughing  eyes. 

"Are  you  — "  I  began.  It  was  on  the  verge  of  my 
tongue  to  ask  if  he  were  going  to  take  the  castaways  in 
to  Yokohama. 

"  Am  I  what  ? "  he  asked. 

"  What  do  you  intend  doing  with  Leach  and  Johnson  ? " 

He  shook  his  head.  "  Really,  Hump,  I  don't  know. 
You  see,  with  these  additions  I've  about  all  the  crew  I 
want." 

"  And  they've  about  all  the  escaping  they  want,"  I  said. 
"  Why  not  give  them  a  change  of  treatment  ?  Take  them 
aboard,  and  deal  gently  with  them.  Whatever  they  have 
done  they  have  been  hounded  into  doing." 


THE  SEA-WOLF  183 

"Byrne?" 

"  By  you,"  I  answered  steadily.  "  And  I  give  you  warn- 
ing, Wolf  Larsen,  that  I  may  forget  love  of  my  own  life  in 
the  desire  to  kill  you  if  you  go  too  far  in  maltreating  those 
poor  wretches." 

"  Bravo  !  "  he  cried.  "  You  do  me  proud,  Hump ! 
You've  found  your  legs  with  a  vengeance.  You're  quite 
an  individual.  You  were  unfortunate  in  having  your  life 
cast  in  easy  places,  but  you're  developing,  and  I  like  you 
the  better  for  it." 

His  voice  and  expression  changed.  His  face  was  seri- 
ous. "  Do  you  believe  in  promises  ? "  he  asked.  "  Are 
they  sacred  things?" 

"  Of  course,"  I  answered. 

"  Then  here's  a  compact,"  he  went  on,  consummate  actor 
that  he  was.  "  If  I  promise  not  to  lay  my  hands  upon 
Leach  and  Johnson,  will  you  promise,  in  turn,  not  to 
attempt  to  kill  me  ? " 

"  Oh,  not  that  I'm  afraid  of  you,  not  that  I'm  afraid  of 
you,"  he  hastened  to  add. 

I  could  hardly  believe  my  ears.  What  was  coming  over 
the  man  ? 

"  Is  it  a  go  ?  "  he  asked  impatiently. 

"  A  go,"  I  answered. 

His  hand  went  out  to  mine,  and  as  I  shook  it  heartily  I 
could  have  sworn  I  saw  the  mocking  devil  shine  up  for  a 
moment  in  his  eyes. 

We  strolled  across  the  poop  to  the  lee  side.  The  boat 
was  close  at  hand  now,  and  in  desperate  plight.  Johnson 
was  steering,  Leach  bailing.  We  overhauled  them  about 
two  feet  to  their  one.  Wolf  Larsen  motioned  Louis  to 
keep  off  slightly,  and  we  dashed  abreast  of  the  boat,  not  a 
score  of  feet  to  windward.  The  Ghost  blanketed  it.  The 


1 84  THE  SEA-WOLF 

spritsail  flapped  emptily  and  the  boat  righted  to  an  even 
keel,  causing  the  two  men  swiftly  to  change  position.  The 
boat  lost  headway,  and,  as  we  lifted  on  a  huge  surge,  toppled 
and  fell  into  the  trough. 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  Leach  and  Johnson  looked 
up  into  the  faces  of  their  shipmates,  who  lined  the  rail 
amidships.  There  was  no  greeting.  They  were  as  dead 
men  in  their  comrades'  eyes,  and  between  them  was  the 
gulf  that  parts  the  living  and  the  dead. 

The  next  instant  they  were  opposite  the  poop,  where 
stood  Wolf  Larsen  and  I.  We  were  falling  in  the  trough, 
they  were  rising  on  the  surge.  Johnson  looked  at  me, 
and  I  could  see  that  his  face  was  worn  and  haggard.  I 
waved  my  hand  to  him,  and  he  answered  the  greeting, 
but  with  a  wave  that  was  hopeless  and  despairing.  It 
was  as  if  he  were  saying  farewell.  I  did  not  see  into  the 
eyes  of  Leach,  for  he  was  looking  at  Wolf  Larsen,  the 
old  and  implacable  snarl  of  hatred  strong  as  ever  on  his 
face. 

Then  they  were  gone  astern.  The  spritsail  filled  with 
the  wind,  suddenly,  careening  the  frail  open  craft  till  it 
seemed  it  would  surely  capsize.  A  whitecap  foamed  above 
it  and  broke  across  in  a  snow-white  smother.  Then  the 
boat  emerged,  half  swamped,  Leach  flinging  the  water  out 
and  Johnson  clinging  to  the  steering-oar,  his  face  white 
and  anxious. 

Wolf  Larsen  barked  a  short  laugh  in  my  ear  and  strode 
away  to  the  weather  side  of  the  poop.  I  expected  him  to 
give  orders  for  the  Ghost  to  heave  to,  but  she  kept  on  her 
course  and  he  made  no  sign.  Louis  stood  imperturbably 
at  the  wheel,  but  I  noticed  the  grouped  sailors  forward 
turning  troubled  faces  in  our  direction.  Still  the  Ghost 
tore  along,  till  the  boat  dwindled  to  a  speck,  when  Wolf 


AT  ANY   MOMENT  THEY  WERE  LIABLE  TO  BE  OVERWHELMED  BY  THE 
HISSING  COMBERS." 


THE  SEA-WOLF  185 

Larsen's  voice  rang  out  in  command  and  he  went  about  on 
the  starboard  tack. 

Back  we  held,  two  miles  and  more  to  windward  of  the 
struggling  cockle-shell,  when  the  flying  jib  was  run  down 
and  the  schooner  hove  to.  The  sealing  boats  are  not  made 
for  windward  work.  Their  hope  lies  in  keeping  a  weather 
position  so  that  they  may  run  before  the  wind  for  the 
schooner  when  it  breezes  up.  But  in  all  that  wild  waste 
there  was  no  refuge  for  Leach  and  Johnson  save  on  the 
Gkost,  and  they  resolutely  began  the  windward  beat.  It 
was  slow  work  in  the  heavy  sea  that  was  running.  At  any 
moment  they  were  liable  to  be  overwhelmed  by  the  hissing 
combers.  Time  and  again  and  countless  times  we  watched 
the  boat  luff  into  the  big  whitecaps,  lose  headway,  and  be 
flung  back  like  a  cork. 

Johnson  was  a  splendid  seaman,  and  he  knew  as  much 
about  small  boats  as  he  did  about  ships.  At  the  end  of  an 
hour  and  a  half  he  was  nearly  alongside,  standing  past 
our  stern  on  the  last  leg  out,  aiming  to  fetch  us  on  the 
next  leg  back. 

"  So  you've  changed  your  mind  ?  "  I  heard  Wolf  Larsen 
mutter,  half  to  himself,  half  to  them  as  though  they  could 
hear.  "  You  want  to  come  aboard,  eh  ?  Well,  then,  just 
keep  a-coming." 

"  Hard  up  with  that  helm !  "  he  commanded  Oofty- 
Oofty,  the  Kanaka,  who  had  in  the  meantime  relieved 
Louis  at  the  wheel. 

Command  followed  command.  As  the  schooner  paid 
off,  the  fore  and  main  sheets  were  slacked  away  for  fair 
wind.  And  before  the  wind  we  were,  and  leaping,  when 
Johnson,  easing  his  sheet  at  imminent  peril,  cut  across  our 
wake  a  hundred  feet  away.  Again  Wolf  Larsen  laughed, 
at  the  same  time  beckoning  them  with  his  arm  to  follow. 


1 86  THE  SEA-WOLF 

It  was  evidently  his  intention  to  play  with  them, — a 
lesson,  I  took  it,  in  lieu  of  a  beating,  though  a  dangerous 
lesson,  for  the  frail  craft  stood  in  momentary  danger  of 
being  overwhelmed. 

Johnson  squared  away  promptly  and  ran  after  us. 
There  was  nothing  else  for  him  to  do.  Death  stalked 
everywhere,  and  it  was  only  a  matter  of  time  when  some 
one  of  those  many  huge  seas  would  fall  upon  the  boat, 
roll  over  it,  and  pass  on. 

"  'Tis  the  fear  iv  death  at  the  hearts  iv  them,"  Louis 
muttered  in  my  ear,  as  I  passed  forward  to  see  to  taking  in 
the  flying  jib  and  staysail. 

"  Oh,  he'll  heave  to  in  a  little  while  and  pick  them  up," 
I  answered  cheerfully.  "  He's  bent  upon  giving  them 
a  lesson,  that's  all." 

Louis  looked  at  me  shrewdly.     "  Think  so  ?  "   he  asked. 

"  Surely,"  I  answered.     "  Don't  you  ? " 

"  I  think  nothing  but  iv  my  own  skin,  these  days,"  was 
his  answer.  "  An'  'tis  with  wonder  I'm  filled  as  to  the 
workin'  out  iv  things.  A  pretty  mess  that  'Frisco  whiskey 
got  me  into,  an'  a  prettier  mess  that  woman's  got  you  into 
aft  there.  Ah,  it's  myself  that  knows  ye  for  a  blitherin' 
fool." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? "  I  demanded ;  for,  having  sped 
his  shaft,  he  was  turning  away. 

"  What  do  I  mean  ? "  he  cried.  "  And  it's  you  that  asks 
me!  Tis  not  what  I  mean,  but  what  the  Wolf '11  mean. 
The  Wolf,  I  said,  the  Wolf!" 

"  If  trouble  comes,  will  you  stand  by  ? "  I  asked  im- 
pulsively, for  he  had  voiced  my  own  fear. 

"Stand  by?  Tis  old  fat  Louis  I  stand  by,  an'  trouble 
enough  it'll  be.  We're  at  the  beginnin'  iv  things,  I'm 
tellin'  ye,  the  bare  beginnin'  iv  things." 


THE  SEA-WOLF  l8/ 

"  I  had  not  thought  you  so  great  a  coward,"  I  sneered. 

He  favored  me  with  a  contemptuous  stare.  "  If  I 
raised  never  a  hand  for  that  poor  fool,"  —  pointing  astern 
to  the  tiny  sail,  —  "  d'ye  think  I'm  hungerin'  for  a  broken 
head  for  a  woman  I  never  laid  me  eyes  upon  before  this 
day?" 

I  turned  scornfully  away  and  went  aft. 

"  Better  get  in  those  topsails,  Mr.  Van  Weyden,"  Wolf 
Larsen  said,  as  I  came  on  the  poop. 

I  felt  relief,  at  least  as  far  as  the  two  men  were  con- 
cerned. It  was  clear  he  did  not  wish  to  run  too  far  away 
from  them.  I  picked  up  hope  at  the  thought  and  put  the 
order  swiftly  into  execution.  I  had  scarcely  opened  my 
mouth  to  issue  the  necessary  commands,  when  eager  men 
were  springing  to  halyards  and  downhauls,  and  others 
were  racing  aloft.  This  eagerness  on  their  part  was  noted 
by  Wolf  Larsen  with  a  grim  smile. 

Still  we  increased  our  lead,  and  when  the  boat  had 
dropped  astern  several  miles  we  hove  to  and  waited.  All 
eyes  watched  it  coming,  even  Wolf  Larsen's ;  but  he  was 
the  only  unperturbed  man  aboard.  Louis,  gazing  fixedly, 
betrayed  a  trouble  in  his  face  he  was  not  quite  able  to  hide. 

The  boat  drew  closer  and  closer,  hurling  along  through 
the  seething  green  like  a  thing  alive,  lifting  and  sending 
and  uptossing  across  the  huge-backed  breakers,  or  dis- 
appearing behind  them  only  to  rush  into  sight  again  and 
shoot  skyward.  It  seemed  impossible  that  it  could  con- 
tinue to  live,  yet  with  each  dizzying  sweep  it  did  achieve 
the  impossible.  A  rain-squall  drove  past,  and  out  of  the 
flying  wet  the  boat  emerged,  almost  upon  us. 

"  Hard  up,  there ! "  Wolf  Larsen  shouted,  himself 
springing  to  the  wheel  and  whirling  it  over. 

Again   the    Ghost  sprang   away  and   raced  before  the 


1 88  THE  SEA-WOLF 

wind,  and  for  two  hours  Johnson  and  Leach  pursued  us. 
We  hove  to  and  ran  away,  hove  to  and  ran  away,  and 
ever  astern  the  struggling  patch  of  sail  tossed  skyward 
and  fell  into  the  rushing  valleys.  It  was  a  quarter  of 
a  mile  away  when  a  thick  squall  of  rain  veiled  it  from 
view.  It  never  emerged.  The  wind  blew  the  air  clear 
again,  but  no  patch  of  sail  broke  the  troubled  surface. 
I  thought  I  saw,  for  an  instant,  the  boat's  bottom  show 
black  in  a  breaking  crest.  At  the  best,  that  was  all. 
For  Johnson  and  Leach  the  travail  of  existence  had  ceased. 

The  men  remained  grouped  amidships.  No  one  had 
gone  below,  and  no  one  was  speaking.  Nor  were  any 
looks  being  exchanged.  Each  man  seemed  stunned  — 
deeply  contemplative,  as  it  were,  and,  not  quite  sure,  try- 
ing to  realize  just  what  had  taken  place.  Wolf  Larsen 
gave  them  little  time  for  thought.  He  at  once  put  the 
Ghost  upon  her  course  —  a  course  which  meant  the  seal 
herd  and  not  Yokohama  harbor.  But  the  men  were  no 
longer  eager  as  they  pulled  and  hauled,  and  I  heard  curses 
amongst  them,  which  left  their  lips  smothered  and  as 
heavy  and  lifeless  as  were  they.  Not  so  was  it  with  the 
hunters.  Smoke  the  irrepressible  related  a  story,  and 
they  descended  into  the  steerage,  bellowing  with  laughter. 

As  I  passed  to  leeward  of  the  galley  on  my  way  aft,  I 
was  approached  by  the  engineer  we  had  rescued.  His 
face  was  white,  his  lips  were  trembling. 

"  Good  God  !  sir,  what  kind  of  a  craft  is  this  ? "  he  cried. 

"You  have  eyes,  you  have  seen,"  I  answered,  almost 
brutally,  what  of  the  pain  and  fear  at  my  own  heart. 

"Your  promise ? "  I  said  to  Wolf  Larsen. 

"  I  was  not  thinking  of  taking  them  aboard  when  I 
made  that  promise,"  he  answered.  "And  anyway,  you'll 
agree  I've  not  laid  my  hands  upon  them." 


THE  SEA- WOLF  189 

"  Far  from  it,  far  from  it,"  he  laughed  a  moment  later. 

I  made  no  reply.  I  was  incapable  of  speaking,  my 
mind  was  too  confused.  I  must  have  time  to  think,  I 
knew.  This  woman,  sleeping  even  now  in  the  spare 
cabin,  was  a  responsibility  which  I  must  consider,  and  the 
only  rational  thought  that  flickered  through  my  mind  was 
that  I  must  do  nothing  hastily  if  I  were  to  be  any  help  to 
her  at  all. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  remainder  of  the  day  passed  uneventfully.  The 
young  slip  of  a  gale,  having  wetted  our  gills,  proceeded 
to  moderate.  The  fourth  engineer  and  the  three  oilers, 
after  a  warm  interview  with  Wolf  Larsen,  were  furnished 
with  outfits  from  the  slop-chests,  assigned  places  under 
the  hunters  in  the  various  boats  and  watches  on  the 
vessel,  and  bundled  forward  into  the  forecastle.  They 
went  protestingly,  but  their  voices  were  not  loud.  They 
were  awed  by  what  they  had  already  seen  of  Wolf  Lar- 
sen's  character,  while  the  tale  of  woe  they  speedily  heard 
in  the  forecastle  took  the  last  bit  of  rebellion  out  of  them. 

Miss  Brewster,  —  we  had  learned  her  name  from  the 
engineer,  —  slept  on  and  on.  At  supper  I  requested  the 
hunters  to  lower  their  voices,  so  she  was  not  disturbed ; 
and  it  was  not  till  next  morning  that  she  made  her 
appearance.  It  had  been  my  intention  to  have  her  meals 
served  apart,  but  Wolf  Larsen  put  down  his  foot.  Who 
was  she  that  she  should  be  too  good  for  cabin  table  and 
cabin  society  ?  had  been  his  demand. 

But  her  coming  to  the  table  had  something  amusing  in 
it.  The  hunters  fell  silent  as  clams.  Jock  Horner  and 
Smoke  alone  were  unabashed,  stealing  stealthy  glances 
at  her  now  and  again,  and  even  taking  part  in  the  conver- 
sation. The  other  four  men  glued  their  eyes  on  their 
plates  and  chewed  steadily  and  with  thoughtful  precision, 
their  ears  moving  and  wobbling,  in  time  with  their  jaws, 
like  the  ears  of  so  many  animals. 

190 


THE  SEA-WOLF  191 

Wolf  Larsen  had  little  to  say  at  first,  doing  no  more 
than  reply  when  he  was  addressed.  Not  that  he  was 
abashed.  Far  from  it.  This  woman  was  a  new  type  to 
him,  a  different  breed  from  any  he  had  ever  known,  and 
he  was  curious.  He  studied  her,  his  eyes  rarely  leav- 
ing her  face  unless  to  follow  the  movements  of  her  hands 
or  shoulders.  I  studied  her  myself,  and  though  it  was  I 
who  maintained  the  conversation,  I  know  that  I  was  a 
bit  shy,  not  quite  self-possessed.  His  was  the  perfect 
poise,  the  supreme  confidence  in  self,  which  nothing  could 
shake ;  and  he  was  no  more  timid  of  a  woman  than  he  was 
of  storm  and  battle. 

"  And  when  shall  we  arrive  at  Yokohama  ? "  she  asked, 
turning  to  him  and  looking  him  squarely  in  the  eyes. 

There  it  was,  the  question  flat.  The  jaws  stopped 
working,  the  ears  ceased  wobbling,  and  though  eyes 
remained  glued  on  plates,  each  man  listened  greedily  for 
the  answer. 

"In  four  months,  possibly  three  if  the  season  closes 
early,"  Wolf  Larsen  said. 

She  caught  her  breath,  and  stammered,  "I  —  I  thought 
—  I  was  given  to  understand  that  Yokohama  was  only  a 
day's  sail  away.  It  — "  Here  she  paused  and  looked 
about  the  table  at  the  circle  of  unsympathetic  faces  star- 
ing hard  at  the  plates.  "  It  is  not  right,"  she  concluded. 

"That  is  a  question  you  must  settle  with  Mr.  Van 
Weyden  there,"  he  replied,  nodding  to  me  with  a  mischiev- 
ous twinkle.  "  Mr.  Van  Weyden  is  what  you  may  call 
an  authority  on  such  things  as  rights.  Now  I,  who  am 
only  a  sailor,  would  look  upon  the  situation  somewhat 
differently.  It  may  possibly  be  your  misfortune  that  you 
have  to  remain  with  us,  but  it  is  certainly  our  good 
fortune." 


THE  SEA-WOLF 

He  regarded  her  smilingly.  Her  eyes  fell  before  his 
gaze,  but  she  lifted  them  again,  and  defiantly,  to  mine. 
I  read  the  unspoken  question  there :  was  it  right  ?  But 
I  had  decided  that  the  part  I  was  to  play  must  be  a  neu- 
tral one,  so  I  did  not  answer. 

"What  do  you  think  ? "  she  demanded. 

"  That  it  is  unfortunate,  epecially  if  you  have  any  engage- 
ments falling  due  in  the  course  of  the  next  several  months. 
But,  since  you  say  that  you  were  voyaging  to  Japan  for 
your  health,  I  can  assure  you  that  it  will  improve  no  better 
anywhere  than  aboard  the  Ghost." 

I  saw  her  eyes  flash  with  indignation,  and  this  time  it 
was  I  who  dropped  mine,  while  I  felt  my  face  flushing 
under  her  gaze.  It  was  cowardly,  but  what  else  could 
I  do? 

"  Mr.  Van  Weyden  speaks  with  the  voice  of  authority," 
Wolf  Larsen  laughed. 

I  nodded  my  head,  and  she,  having  recovered  herself, 
waited  expectantly. 

"  Not  that  he  is  much  to  speak  of  now,"  Wolf  Larsen 
went  on,  "  but  he  has  improved  wonderfully.  You  should 
have  seen  him  when  he  came  on  board.  A  more  scrawny, 
pitiful  specimen  of  humanity  one  could  hardly  conceive. 
Isn't  that  so,  Kerf oot  ?  " 

Kerfoot,  thus  directly  addressed,  was  startled  into  drop- 
ping his  knife  on  the  floor,  though  he  managed  to  grunt 
affirmation. 

"  Developed  himself  by  peeling  potatoes  and  washing 
dishes.  Eh,  Kerfoot?" 

Again  that  worthy  grunted. 

"  Look  at  him  now.  True,  he  is  not  what  you  would 
term  muscular,  but  still  he  has  muscles,  which  is  more  than 
he  had  when  he  came  aboard.  Also,  he  has  legs  to  stand 


THE  SEA-WOLF  193 

on.  You  would  not  think  so  to  look  at  him,  but  he  was 
quite  unable  to  stand  alone  at  first." 

The  hunters  were  snickering,  but  she  looked  at  me  with 
a  sympathy  in  her  eyes  which  more  than  compensated  for 
Wolf  Larsen's  nastiness.  In  truth,  it  had  been  so  long 
since  I  had  received  sympathy  that  I  was  softened,  and  I 
became  then,  and  gladly,  her  willing  slave.  But  I  was 
angry  with  Wolf  Larsen.  He  was  challenging  my  man- 
hood with  his  slurs,  challenging  the  very  legs  he  claimed 
to  be  instrumental  in  getting  for  me. 

"  I  may  have  learned  to  stand  on  my  own  legs,"  I  re- 
torted. "  But  I  have  yet  to  stamp  upon  others  with  them." 

He  looked  at  me  insolently.  "  Your  education  is  only 
half  completed,  then,"  he  said  dryly,  and  turned  to  her. 

"We  are  very  hospitable  upon  the  Ghost.  Mr.  Van 
Weyden  has  discovered  that.  We  do  everything  to  make 
our  guests  feel  at  home,  eh,  Mr.  Van  Weyden  ?  " 

"  Even  to  the  peeling  of  potatoes  and  the  washing  of 
dishes,"  I  answered,  "  to  say  nothing  to  wringing  their 
necks  out  of  very  fellowship." 

"  I  beg  of  you  not  to  receive  false  impressions  of  us  from 
Mr.  Van  Weyden,"  he  interposed  with  mock  anxiety. 
"You  will  observe,  Miss  Brewster,  that  he  carries  a  dirk 
in  his  belt,  a  —  ahem  —  a  most  unusual  thing  for  a  ship's 
officer  to  do.  While  really  very  estimable,  Mr.  Van 
Weyden  is  sometimes  —  how  shall  I  say?  —  er  —  quarrel- 
some, and  harsh  measures  are  necessary.  He  is  quite 
reasonable  and  fair  in  his  calm  moments,  and  as  he  is  calm 
now  he  will  not  deny  that  only  yesterday  he  threatened 
my  life." 

I  was  well-nigh  choking,  and  my  eyes  were  certainly 
fiery.  He  drew  attention  to  me. 

"  Look  at  him  now.     He  can  scarcely  control  himself  in 


194  THE  SEA-WOLF 

your  presence.  He  is  not  accustomed  to  the  presence  of 
ladies,  anyway.  I  shall  have  to  arm  myself  before  I  dare 
go  on  deck  with  him." 

He  shook  his  head  sadly,  murmuring,  "Too  bad,  too 
bad,"  while  the  hunters  burst  into  guffaws  of  laughter. 

The  deep-sea  voices  of  these  men,  rumbling  and  bellow- 
ing in  the  confined  space,  produced  a  wild  effect.  The 
whole  setting  was  wild,  and  for  the  first  time,  regarding 
this  strange  woman  and  realizing  how  incongruous  she  was 
in  it,  I  was  aware  of  how  much  a  part  of  it  I  was  myself. 
I  knew  these  men  and  their  mental  processes,  was  one  of 
them  myself,  living  the  seal-hunting  life,  eating  the  seal- 
hunting  fare,  thinking,  largely,  the  seal-hunting  thoughts. 
There  was  for  me  no  strangeness  to  it,  to  the  rough 
clothes,  the  coarse  faces,  the  wild  laughter,  and  the  lurch- 
ing cabin  walls  and  swaying  sea-lamps. 

As  I  buttered  a  piece  of  bread  my  eyes  chanced  to  rest 
upon  my  hand.  The  knuckles  were  skinned  and  inflamed 
clear  across,  the  fingers  swollen,  the  nails  rimmed  with 
black.  I  felt  the  mattress-like  growth  of  beard  on  my 
neck,  knew  that  the  sleeve  of  my  coat  was  ripped,  that  a 
button  was  missing  from  the  throat  of  the  blue  shirt  I 
wore.  The  dirk  mentioned  by  Wolf  Larsen  rested  in  its 
sheath  on  my  hip.  It  was  very  natural  that  it  should  be 
there,  —  how  natural  I  had  not  imagined  until  now,  when  I 
looked  upon  it  with  her  eyes  and  knew  how  strange  it  and 
all  that  went  with  it  must  appear  to  her. 

But  she  divined  the  mockery  in  Wolf  Larsen's  words, 
and  again  favored  me  with  a  sympathetic  glance.  But 
there  was  a  look  of  bewilderment  also  in  her  eyes.  That 
it  was  mockery  made  the  situation  more  puzzling  to  her. 

"  I  may  be  taken  off  by  some  passing  vessel,  perhaps," 
she  suggested. 


THE  SEA-WOLF  195 

"  There  will  be  no  passing  vessels,  except  other  sealing 
schooners,"  Wolf  Larsen  made  answer. 

"I  have  no  clothes,  nothing,"  she  objected.  "You 
hardly  realize,  sir,  that  I  am  not  a  man,  or  that  I  am 
unaccustomed  to  the  vagrant,  careless  life  which  you  and 
your  men  seem  to  lead." 

"  The  sooner  you  get  accustomed  to  it,  the  better,"  he 
said. 

"I'll  furnish  you  with  cloth,  needles,  and  thread,"  he 
added.  "  I  hope  it  will  not  be  too  dreadful  a  hardship  for 
you  to  make  yourself  a  dress  or  two." 

She  made  a  wry  pucker  with  her  mouth,  as  though  to 
advertise  her  ignorance  of  dressmaking.  That  she  was 
frightened  and  bewildered,  and  that  she  was  bravely  striv- 
ing to  hide  it,  was  quite  plain  to  me. 

"I  suppose  you're  like  Mr.  Van  Weyden  there,  accus- 
tomed to  having  things  done  for  you.  Well,  I  think  doing 
a  few  things  for  yourself  will  hardly  dislocate  any  joints. 
By  the  way,  what  do  you  do  for  a  living  ?  " 

She  regarded  him  with  amazement  unconcealed. 

"I  mean  no  offence,  believe  me.  People  eat,  therefore 
they  must  procure  the  wherewithal.  These  men  here 
shoot  seals  in  order  to  live  ;  for  the  same  reason  I  sail  this 
schooner;  and  Mr.  Van  Weyden,  for  the  present  at  any 
rate,  earns  his  salty  grub  by  assisting  me.  Now  what  do 
you  do  ? " 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

"  Do  you  feed  yourself  ?  Or  does  some  one  else  feed 
you?" 

"  I'm  afraid  some  one  else  has  fed  me  most  of  my  life," 
she  laughed,  trying  bravely  to  enter  into  the  spirit  of  his 
quizzing,  though  I  could  see  a  terror  dawning  and  grow- 
ing in  her  eyes  as  she  watched  Wolf  Larsen. 


196  THE  SEA- WOLF 

4 

"And  I  suppose  some  one  else  makes  your  bed  for 
you?" 

"  I  have  made  beds,"  she  replied. 

"  Very  often  ? " 

She  shook  her  head  with  mock  ruefulness. 

"  Do  you  know  what  they  do  to  poor  men  in  the  States, 
who,  like  you,  do  not  work  for  their  living  ? " 

"  I  am  very  ignorant,"  she  pleaded.  "  What  do  they  do 
to  the  poor  men  who  are  like  me  ? " 

"  They  send  them  to  jail.  The  crime  of  not  earning  a 
living,  in  their  case,  is  called  vagrancy.  If  I  were  Mr. 
Van  Weyden,  who  harps  eternally  on  questions  of  right 
and  wrong,  I'd  ask  by  what  right  do  you  live  when  you  do 
nothing  to  deserve  living  ? " 

"  But  as  you  are  not  Mr.  Van  Weyden,  I  don't  have  to 
answer,  do  I  ?  " 

She  beamed  upon  him  through  her  terror-filled  eyes,  and 
the  pathos  of  it  cut  me  to  the  heart.  I  must  in  some  way 
break  in  and  lead  the  conversation  into  other  channels. 

"  Have  you  ever  earned  a  dollar  by  your  own  labor  ? " 
he  demanded,  certain  of  her  answer,  a  triumphant  vindic- 
tiveness  in  his  voice. 

"  Yes,  I  have,"  she  answered  slowly,  and  I  could  have 
laughed  aloud  at  his  crestfallen  visage.  "  I  remember  my 
father  giving  me  a  dollar  once,  when  I  was  a  little  girl,  for 
remaining  absolutely  quiet  for  five  minutes." 

He  smiled  indulgently. 

"  But  that  was  long  ago,"  she  continued.  "  And  you 
would  scarcely  demand  a  little  girl  of  nine  to  earn  her  own 
living." 

"At  present,  however,"  she  said,  after  another  slight 
pause,  "  I  earn  about  eighteen  hundred  dollars  a  year." 

With  one  accord,  all  eyes  left  the  plates  and  settled  on 


THE  SEA-WOLF  197 

her.  A  woman  who  earned  eighteen  hundred  dollars  a 
year  was  worth  looking  at.  Wolf  Larsen  was  undisguised 
in  his  admiration. 

"  Salary  or  piece-work  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Piece-work,"  she  answered  promptly. 

"  Eighteen  hundred,"  he  calculated.  "  That's  a  hundred 
and  fifty  dollars  a  month.  Well,  Miss  Brewster,  there  is 
nothing  small  about  the  Ghost.  Consider  yourself  on  sal- 
ary during  the  time  you  remain  with  us." 

She  made  no  acknowledgment.  She  was  too  unused  as 
yet  to  the  whims  of  the  man  to  accept  them  with  equa- 
nimity. 

"I  forgot  to  inquire,"  he  went  on  suavely,  "as  to  the 
nature  of  your  occupation.  What  commodities  do  you  turn 
out  ?  What  tools  and  materials  do  you  require  ? " 

"  Paper  and  ink,"  she  laughed.  "  And,  oh !  also  a  type- 
writer." 

"You  are  Maud  Brewster,"  I  said  slowly  and  with 
certainty,  almost  as  though  I  were  charging  her  with  a 
crime. 

Her  eyes  lifted  curiously  to  mine.    "  How  do  you  know  ? " 

"  Aren't  you  ? "  I  demanded. 

She  acknowledged  her  identity  with  a  nod.  It  was  Wolf 
Larsen's  turn  to  be  puzzled.  The  name  and  its  magic  sig- 
nified nothing  to  him.  I  was  proud  that  it  did  mean  some- 
thing to  me,  and  for  the  first  time  in  a  weary  while  I  was 
convincingly  conscious  of  a  superiority  over  him. 

"  I  remember  writing  a  review  of  a  thin  little  volume  —  " 
I  had  begun  carelessly,  when  she  interrupted  me. 

"  You !  "  she  cried.     "  You  are  —  " 

She  was  now  staring  at  me  in  wide-eyed  wonder. 

I  nodded  my  identity,  in  turn. 

"  Humphrey  Van  Weyden,"  she  concluded;  then  added 


198  THE  SEA- WOLF 

with  a  sigh  of  relief,  and  unaware  that  she  had  glanced 
that  relief  at  Wolf  Larsen,  "  I  am  so  glad." 

"  I  remember  the  review,"  she  went  on  hastily,  becoming 
aware  of  the  awkwardness  of  her  remark;  "that  too,  too 
flattering  review." 

"  Not  at  all,"  I  denied  valiantly.  "  You  impeach  my 
sober  judgment  and  make  my  canons  of  little  worth.  Be- 
sides, all  my  brother  critics  were  with  me.  Didn't  Lang 
include  your  *  Kiss  Endured '  among  the  four  supreme  son- 
nets by  women  in  the  English  language  ? " 

"  But  you  called  me  the  American  Mrs.  Meynell !  " 

"  Was  it  not  true  ? "  I  demanded. 

"  No,  not  that,"  she  answered.     "  I  was  hurt." 

"  We  can  measure  the  unknown  only  by  the  known,"  I 
replied,  in  my  finest  academic  manner.  "  As  a  critic  I  was 
compelled  to  place  you.  You  have  now  become  a  yardstick 
yourself.  Seven  of  your  thin  little  volumes  are  on  my 
shelves;  and  there  are  two  thicker  volumes,  the  essays, 
which,  you  will  pardon  my  saying,  and  I  know  not  which 
is  flattered  more,  fully  equal  your  verse.  The  time  is  not 
far  distant  when  some  unknown  will  arise  in  England  and 
the  critics  will  name  her  the  English  Maud  Brewster." 

"You  are  very  kind,  I  am  sure,"  she  murmured;  and 
the  very  conventionality  of  her  tones  and  words,  with  the 
host  of  associations  it  aroused  of  the  old  life  on  the  other 
side  of  the  world,  gave  me  a  quick  thrill — rich  with  remem- 
brance but  stinging  sharp  with  homesickness. 

"  And  you  are  Maud  Brewster,"  I  said  solemnly,  gazing 
across  at  her. 

"  And  you  are  Humphrey  Van  Weyden,"  she  said,  gaz- 
ing back  at  me  with  equal  solemnity  and  awe.  "How 
unusual !  I  don't  understand.  We  surely  are  not  to  ex- 
pect some  wildly  romantic  sea-story  from  your  sober  pen  ?  " 


THE  SEA-WOLF  199 

"  No,  I  am  not  gathering  material,  I  assure  you,"  was 
my  answer.  "  I  have  neither  aptitude  nor  inclination  for 
fiction." 

"  Tell  me,  why  have  you  always  buried  yourself  in  Cali- 
fornia?" she  next  asked.  "It  has  not  been  kind  of  you. 
We  of  the  East  have  seen  so  very  little  of  you  —  too  little, 
indeed,  of  the  Dean  of  American  Letters,  the  Second." 

I  bowed  to,  and  disclaimed,  the  compliment.  "  I  nearly 
met  you,  once,  in  Philadelphia,  some  Browning  affair  or 
other  —  you  were  to  lecture,  you  know.  My  train  was 
four  hours  late." 

And  then  we  quite  forgot  where  we  were,  leaving  Wolf 
Larsen  stranded  and  silent  in  the  midst  of  our  flood  of 
gossip.  The  hunters  left  the  table  and  went  on  deck,  and 
still  we  talked.  Wolf  Larsen  alone  remained.  Suddenly 
I  became  aware  of  him,  leaning  back  from  the  table  and 
listening  curiously  to  our  alien  speech  of  a  world  he  did 
not  know. 

I  broke  short  off  in  the  middle  of  a  sentence.  The  pres- 
ent, with  all  its  perils  and  anxieties,  rushed  upon  me  with 
stunning  force.  It  smote  Miss  Brewster  likewise,  a  vague 
and  nameless  terror  rushing  into  her  eyes  as  she  regarded 
Wolf  Larsen. 

He  rose  to  his  feet  and  laughed  awkwardly.  The  sound 
of  it  was  metallic. 

"  Oh,  don't  mind  me,"  he  said,  with  a  self-depreciatory 
wave  of  his  hand.  "  I  don't  count.  Go  on,  go  on,  I  pray 
you." 

But  the  gates  of  speech  were  closed,  and  we,  too,  rose 
from  the  table  and  laughed  awkwardly. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  chagrin  Wolf  Larsen  felt  from  being  ignored  by 
Maud  Brewster  and  me  in  the  conversation  at  table  had  to 
express  itself  in  some  fashion,  and  it  fell  to  Thomas 
Mugridge  to  be  the  victim.  He  had  not  mended  his  ways 
nor  his  shirt,  though  the  latter  he  contended  he  had  changed. 
The  garment  itself  did  not  bear  out  the  assertion,  nor  did 
the  accumulations  of  grease  on  stove  and  pot  and  pan 
attest  a  general  cleanliness. 

"  I've  given  you  warning,  Cooky,"  Wolf  Larsen  said, 
"  and  now  you've  got  to  take  your  medicine." 

Mugridge's  face  turned  white  under  its  sooty  veneer, 
and  when  Wolf  Larsen  called  for  a  rope  and  a  couple  of 
men,  the  miserable  Cockney  fled  wildly  out  of  the  galley 
and  dodged  and  ducked  about  the  deck  with  the  grinning 
crew  in  pursuit.  Few  things  could  have  been  more  to 
their  liking  than  to  give  him  a  tow  over  the  side,  for  to  the 
forecastle  he  had  sent  messes  and  concoctions  of  the  vilest 
order.  Conditions  favored  the  undertaking.  The  Ghost 
was  slipping  through  the  water  at  no  more  than  three 
miles  an  hour,  and  the  sea  was  fairly  calm.  But  Mugridge 
had  little  stomach  for  a  dip  in  it.  Possibly  he  had  seen 
men  towed  before.  Besides,  the  water  was  frightfully  cold, 
and  his  was  anything  but  a  rugged  constitution. 

As  usual,  the  watches  below  and  the  hunters  turned  out 
for  what  promised  sport.  Mugridge  seemed  to  be  in  rabid 
fear  of  the  water,  and  he  exhibited  a  nimbleness  and  speed 
we  did  not  dream  he  possessed.  Cornered  in  the  right- 

200 


THE  SEA-WOLF  2OI 

angle  of  the  poop  and  galley,  he  sprang  like  a  cat  to  the 
top  of  the  cabin  and  ran  aft.  But  his  pursuers  forestall- 
ing him,  he  doubled  back  across  the  cabin,  passed  over  the 
galley,  and  gained  the  deck  by  means  of  the  steerage- 
scuttle.  Straight  forward  he  raced,  the  boat-puller  Harrison 
at  his  heels  and  gaining  on  him.  But  Mugridge,  leaping 
suddenly,  caught  the  jib-boom-lift.  It  happened  in  an 
instant.  Holding  his  weight  by  his  arms,  and  in  mid-air 
doubling  his  body  at  the  hips,  he  let  fly  with  both  feet. 
The  oncoming  Harrison  caught  the  kick  squarely  in  the 
pit  of  the  stomach,  groaned  involuntarily,  and  doubled  up 
and  sank  backward  to  the  deck. 

Hand-clapping  and  roars  of  laughter  from  the  hunters 
greeted  the  exploit,  while  Mugridge,  eluding  half  of  his 
pursuers  at  the  foremast,  ran  aft  and  through  the  remain- 
der like  a  runner  on  the  football  field.  Straight  aft  he 
held,  to  the  poop  and  along  the  poop  to  the  stern.  So 
great  was  his  speed  that  as  he  curved  past  the  corner  of 
the  cabin  he  slipped  and  fell.  Nilson  was  standing  at  the 
wheel,  and  the  Cockney's  hurtling  body  struck  his  legs. 
Both  went  down  together,  but  Mugridge  alone  arose.  By 
some  freak  of  pressures,  his  frail  body  had  snapped  the 
strong  man's  leg  like  a  pipestem. 

Parsons  took  the  wheel,  and  the  pursuit  continued. 
Round  and  round  the  decks  they  went,  Mugridge  sick 
with  fear,  the  sailors  hallooing  and  shouting  directions  to 
one  another,  and  the  hunters  bellowing  encouragement  and 
laughter.  Mugridge  went  down  on  the  fore-hatch  under 
three  men ;  but  he  emerged  from  the  mass  like  an  eel, 
bleeding  at  the  mouth,  the  offending  shirt  ripped  into 
tatters,  and  sprang  for  the  main-rigging.  Up  he  went, 
clear  up,  beyond  the  ratlines,  to  the  very  masthead. 

Half  a  dozen  sailors  swarmed  to  the   crosstrees  after 


202  THE  SEA-WOLF 

him,  where  they  clustered  and  waited  while  two  of  their 
number,  Oofty-Oofty  and  Black,  (who  was  Latimer's  boat- 
steerer),  continued  up  the  thin  steel  stays,  lifting  their 
bodies  higher  and  higher  by  means  of  their  arms. 

It  was  a  perilous  undertaking,  for,  at  a  height  of  over  a 
hundred  feet  from  the  deck,  holding  on  by  their  hands, 
they  were  not  in  the  best  of  positions  to  protect  themselves 
from  Mugridge's  feet.  And  Mugridge  kicked  savagely, 
till  the  Kanaka,  hanging  on  with  one  hand,  seized  the 
Cockney's  foot  with  the  other.  Black  duplicated  the  per- 
formance a  moment  later  with  the  other  foot.  Then  the 
three  writhed  together  in  a  swaying  tangle,  struggling, 
sliding,  and  falling  into  the  arms  of  their  mates  on  the 
crosstrees. 

The  aerial  battle  was  over,  and  Thomas  Mugridge, 
whining  and  gibbering,  his  mouth  flecked  with  bloody 
foam,  was  brought  down  to  deck.  Wolf  Larsen  rove  a 
bowline  in  a  piece  of  rope  and  slipped  it  under  his  shoul- 
ders. Then  he  was  carried  aft  and  flung  into  the  sea. 
Forty,  —  fifty,  —  sixty  feet  of  line  ran  out,  when  Wolf  Lar- 
sen cried  "  Belay !  "  Oofty-Oofty  took  a  turn  on  a  bitt, 
the  rope  tautened,  and  the  Ghost,  lunging  onward,  jerked 
the  cook  to  the  surface. 

It  was  a  pitiful  spectacle.  Though  he  could  not  drown, 
and  was  nine-lived  in  addition,  he  was  suffering  all  the 
agonies  of  half -drowning.  The  Ghost  was  going  very 
slowly,  and  when  her  stern  lifted  on  a  wave  and  she 
'•  slipped  forward  she  pulled  the  wretch  to  the  surface  and 
gave  him  a  moment  in  which  to  breathe;  but  between 
each  lift  the  stern  fell,  and  while  the  bow  lazily  climbed 
the  next  wave  the  line  slacked  and  he  sank  beneath. 

I  had  forgotten  the  existence  of  Maud  Brewster,  and  I 
remembered  her  with  a  start  as  she  stepped  lightly  beside 


"...  THE  KANAKA,  HANGING  ON  WITH  ONE  HAND,  SEIZED  THE  COCKNEY'S 
FOOT  WITH  THE  OTHER." 


THE  SEA-WOLF  203 

me.     It  was  her  first  time  on  deck  since  she  had  come 
aboard.     A  dead  silence  greeted  her  appearance. 

"  What  is  the  cause  of  the  merriment  ? "  she  asked. 

"  Ask  Captain  Larsen,"  I  answered  composedly  and 
coldly,  though  inwardly  my  blood  was  boiling  at  the 
thought  that  she  should  be  witness  to  such  brutality. 

She  took  my  advice  and  was  turning  to  put  it  into  execu- 
tion, when  her  eyes  lighted  on  Oofty-Oofty,  immediately 
before  her,  his  body  instinct  with  alertness  and  grace  as 
he  held  the  turn  of  the  rope. 

"  Are  you  fishing  ? "  she  asked  him. 

He  made  no  reply.  His  eyes,  fixed  intently  on  the  sea 
astern,  suddenly  flashed. 

"  Shark  ho,  sir !  "  he  cried. 

'  •*'  Heave  in !  Lively !  All  hands  tail  on ! "  Wolf  Larsen 
shouted,  springing  himself  to  the  rope  in  advance  of  the 
quickest. 

Mugridge  had  heard  the  Kanaka's  warning  cry  and  was 
screaming  madly.  I  could  see  a  black  fin  cutting  the  water 
and  making  for  him  with  greater  swiftness  than  he  was  be- 
ing pulled  aboard.  It  was  an  even  toss  whether  the  shark 
or  we  would  get  him,  and  it  was  a  matter  of  moments. 
When  Mugridge  was  directly  beneath  us,  the  stern  de- 
scended the  slope  of  a  passing  wave,  thus  giving  the  advan- 
tage to  the  shark.  The  fin  disappeared.  The  belly 
flashed  white  in  a  swift  upward  rush.  Almost  equally 
swift,  but  not  quite,  was  Wolf  Larsen.  He  threw  his 
strength  into  one  tremendous  jerk.  The  Cockney's  body 
left  the  water ;  so  did  part  of  the  shark's.  He  drew  up 
his  legs,  and  the  man-eater  seemed  no  more  than  barely 
to  touch  one  foot,  sinking  back  into  the  water  with  a 
splash.  But  at  the  moment  of  contact  Thomas  Mugridge 
cried  out.  Then  he  came  in  like  a  fresh-caught  fish  on  a 


204  THE  SEA-WOLF 

line,  clearing  the  rail  generously  and  striking  the  deck  in 
a  heap,  on  hands  and  knees,  and  rolling  over. 

But  a  fountain  of  blood  was  gushing  forth.  The  right 
foot  was  missing,  amputated  neatly  at  the  ankle.  I  looked 
instantly  to  Maud  Brewster.  Her  face  was  white,  her  eyes 
dilated  with  horror.  She  was  gazing,  not  at  Thomas 
Mugridge,  but  at  Wolf  Larsen.  And  he  was  aware  of  it, 
for  he  said,  with  one  of  his  short  laughs : 

"  Man-play,  Miss  Brewster.  Somewhat  rougher,  I  war- 
rant, than  what  you  have  been  used  to,  but  still  —  man- 
play.  The  shark  was  not  in  the  reckoning.  It  — " 

But  at  this  juncture,  Mugridge,  who  had  lifted  his  head 
and  ascertained  the  extent  of  his  loss,  floundered  over  on 
the  deck  and  buried  his  teeth  in  Wolf  Larsen's  leg.  Wolf 
Larsen  stooped,  coolly,  to  the  Cockney,  and  pressed  with 
thumb  and  finger  at  the  rear  of  the  jaws  and  below  the 
ears.  The  jaws  opened  with  reluctance,  and  Wolf  Larsen 
stepped  free. 

"  As  I  was  saying,"  he  went  on,  as  though  nothing  un- 
wonted had  happened,  "  the  shark  was  not  in  the  reckon- 
ing. It  was  —  ahem  —  shall  we  say  Providence  ? " 

She  gave  no  sign  that  she  had  heard,  though  the  expres- 
sion of  her  eyes  changed  to  one  of  inexpressible  loathing 
as  she  started  to  turn  away.  She  no  more  than  started, 
for  she  swayed  and  tottered,  and  reached  her  hand  weakly 
out  to  mine.  I  caught  her  in  time  to  save  her  from  falling, 
and  helped  her  to  a  seat  on  the  cabin.  I  thought  she  must 
faint  outright,  but  she  controlled  herself. 

"Will  you  get  a  tourniquet,  Mr.  Van  Weyden,"  Wolf 
Larsen  called  to  me. 

I  hesitated.  Her  lips  moved,  and  though  they  formed 
no  words,  she  commanded  me  with  her  eyes,  plainly  as 
speech,  to  go  to  the  help  of  the  unfortunate  man, 


THE  SEA-WOLF  2O5 

"  Please,"    she    managed    to   whisper,  and   I   could   but 
obey. 

By  now  I  had  developed  such  skill  at  surgery  that  Wolf 
Larsen,  with  a  few  words  of  advice,  left  me  to  my  task 
with  a  couple  of  sailors  for  assistants.  For  his  task  he 
elected  a  vengeance  on  the  shark.  A  heavy  swivel-hook, 
baited  with  fat  salt-pork,  was  dropped  overside;  and  by 
the  time  I  had  compressed  the  severed  veins  and  arteries, 
the  sailors  were  singing  and  heaving  in  the  offending  mon- 
ster. I  did  not  see  it  myself,  but  my  assistants,  first  one 
and  then  the  other,  deserted  me  for  a  few  moments  to  run 
amidships  and  look  at  what  was  going  on.  The  shark,  a 
sixteen-footer,  was  hoisted  up  against  the  main-rigging. 
Its  jaws  were  pried  apart  to  their  greatest  extension,  and  a 
stout  stake,  sharpened  at  both  ends,  was  so  inserted  that 
when  the  pries  were  removed  the  spread  jaws  were  fixed 
upon  it.  This  accomplished,  the  hook  was  cut  out.  The 
shark  dropped  back  into  the  sea,  helpless,  yet  with  its  full 
strength,  doomed  to  lingering  starvation  —  a  living  death 
less  meet  for  it  than  for  the  man  who  devised  the  punish- 
ment. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

I  KNEW  what  it  was  as  she  came  toward  me.  For  ten 
minutes  I  had  watched  her  talking  earnestly  with  the 
engineer,  and  now,  with  a  sign  for  silence,  I  drew  her  out 
of  earshot  of  the  helmsman.  Her  face  was  white  and  set; 
her  large  eyes,  larger  than  usual  what  of  the  purpose  in 
them,  looked  penetratingly  into  mine.  I  felt  rather  timid 
and  apprehensive,  for  she  had  come  to  search  Humphrey 
Van  Weyden's  soul,  and  Humphrey  Van  Weyden  had  noth- 
ing of  which  to  be  particularly  proud  since  his  advent  on 
the  Ghost. 

We  walked  to  the  break  of  the  poop,  where  she  turned 
and  faced  me.  I  glanced  around  to  see  that  no  one  was 
within  hearing  distance. 

"  What  is  it  ? "  I  asked  gently ;  but  the  expression  of 
determination  on  her  face  did  not  relax. 

"I  can  readily  understand,"  she  began,  "that  this  morn- 
ing's affair  was  largely  an  accident ;  but  I  have  been  talk- 
ing with  Mr.  Haskins.  He  tells  me  that  the  day  we  were 
rescued,  even  while  I  was  in  the  cabin,  two  men  were 
drowned,  deliberately  drowned  —  murdered." 

There  was  a  query  in  her  voice,  and  she  faced  me  accus- 
ingly, as  though  I  were  guilty  of  the  deed,  or  at  least  a 
party  to  it. 

"  The  information  is  quite  correct,"  I  answered.  "  The 
two  men  were  murdered." 

"  And  you  permitted  it !  "  she  cried. 

206 


THE  SEA-WOLF  2O? 

"  I  was  unable  to  prevent  it,  is  a  better  way  of  phrasing 
it,"  I  replied,  still  gently. 

"  But  you  tried  to  prevent  it  ? "  There  was  an  emphasis 
on  the  "  tried,"  and  a  pleading  little  note  in  her  voice. 

"  Oh,  but  you  didn't,"  she  hurried  on,  divining  my 
answer.  "  But  why  didn't  you  ? " 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders.  "  You  must  remember,  Miss 
Brewster,  that  you  are  a  new  inhabitant  of  this  little  world, 
and  that  you  do  not  yet  understand  the  laws  which  operate 
within  it.  You  bring  with  you  certain  fine  conceptions  of 
humanity,  manhood,  conduct,  and  such  things;  but  here 
you  will  find  them  misconceptions.  I  have  found  it  so," 
I  added,  with  an  involuntary  sigh. 

She  shook  her  head  incredulously. 

"What  would  you  advise,  then?"  I  asked.  "That  I 
should  take  a  knife,  or  a  gun,  or  an  axe,  and  kill  this 
man?" 

She  half  started  back. 

"  No,  not  that !  " 

"  Then  what  should  I  do  ?     Kill  myself  ?  " 

"  You  speak  in  purely  materialistic  terms,"  she  objected. 
"  There  is  such  a  thing  as  moral  courage,  and  moral  cour- 
age is  never  without  effect." 

"  Ah,"  I  smiled,  "  you  advise  me  to  kill  neither  him  nor 
myself,  but  to  let  him  kill  me."  I  held  up  my  hand  as  she 
was  about  to  speak.  "  For  moral  courage  is  a  worthless 
asset  on  this  little  floating  world.  Leach,  one  of  the  men 
who  were  murdered,  had  moral  courage  to  an  unusual 
degree.  So  had  the  other  man,  Johnson.  Not  only  did 
it  not  stand  them  in  good  stead,  but  it  destroyed  them. 
And  so  with  me  if  I  should  exercise  what  little  moral  cour- 
age I  may  possess. 

"KYou  must  understand,  Miss  Brewster,  and  understand 


208  THE  SEA-WOLF 

clearly,  that  this  man  is  a  monster.  He  is  without  con- 
science. Nothing  is  sacred  to  him,  nothing  is  too  terrible 
for  him  to  do.  It  was  due  to  his  whim  that  I  was  detained 
aboard  in  the  first  place.  It  is  due  to  his  whim  that  I  am 
still  alive.  I  do  nothing,  can  do  nothing,  because  I  am  a 
slave  to  this  monster,  as  you  are  now  a  slave  to  him ;  be- 
cause I  desire  to  live,  as  you  will  desire  to  live ;  because  I 
cannot  fight  and  overcome  him,  just  as  you  will  not  be  able 
to  fight  and  overcome  him." 

She  waited  for  me  to  go  on. 

"  What  remains  ?  Mine  is  the  r61e  of  the  weak.  I 
remain  silent  and  suffer  ignominy,  as  you  will  remain 
silent  and  suffer  ignominy.  And  it  is  well.  It  is  the  best 
we  can  do  if  we  wish  to  live.  The  battle  is  not  always  to 
the  strong.  We  have  not  the  strength  with  which  to  fight 
this  man ;  we  must  dissimulate,  and  win,  if  win  we  can,  by 
craft.  If  you  will  be  advised  by  me,  this  is  what  you  will 
do.  I  know  my  position  is  perilous,  and  I  may  say  frankly 
that  yours  is  even  more  perilous.  We  must  stand  together, 
without  appearing  to  do  so,  in  secret  alliance.  I  shall  not 
be  able  to  side  with  you  openly,  and,  no  matter  what 
indignities  may  be  put  upon  me,  you  are  to  remain  like- 
wise silent.  We  must  provoke  no  scenes  with  this  man, 
nor  cross  his  will  And  we  must  keep  smiling  faces  and 
be  friendly  with  him  no  matter  how  repulsive  it  may 
be." 

She  brushed  her  hand  across  her  forehead  in  a  puzzled 
way,  saying,  "  Still  I  do  not  understand." 

"  You  must  do  as  I  say,"  I  interrupted  authoritatively, 
for  I  saw  Wolf  Larsen's  gaze  wandering  toward  us  from 
where  he  paced  up  and  down  with  Latimer  amidships. 
"  Do  as  I  say,  and  ere  long  you  will  find  I  am  right." 

"What   shall   I   do,  then?"   she   asked,  detecting   the 


THE  SEA-WOLF  2OQ 

anxious  glance  I  had  shot  at  the  object  of  our  conversa- 
tion, and  impressed,  I  flatter  myself,  with  the  earnestness 
of  my  manner. 

"  Dispense  with  all  the  moral  courage  you  can,"  I  said 
briskly.  "  Don't  arouse  this  man's  animosity.  Be  quite 
friendly  with  him,  talk  with  him,  discuss  literature  and  art 
with  him  —  he  is  fond  of  such  things.  You  will  find  him 
an  interested  listener  and  no  fool.  And  for  your  own  sake 
try  to  avoid  witnessing,  as  much  as  you  can,  the  brutalities 
of  the  ship.  It  will  make  it  easier  for  you  to  act  your 
part" 

"  I  am  to  lie,"  she  said  in  steady,  rebellious  tones,  "  by 
speech  and  action  to  lie." 

Wolf  Larsen  had  separated  from  Latimer  and  was  com- 
ing toward  us.  I  was  desperate. 

"Please,  please  understand  me,"  I  said  hurriedly, 
lowering  my  voice.  "All  your  experience  of  men  and 
things  is  worthless  here.  You  must  begin  over  again.  I 
know,  —  I  can  see  it,  —  you  have,  among  other  ways,  been 
used  to  managing  people  with  your  eyes,  letting  your 
moral  courage  speak  out  through  them,  as  it  were.  You 
have  already  managed  me  with  your  eyes,  commanded  me 
with  them.  But  don't  try  it  on  Wolf  Larsen.  You  could 
as  easily  control  a  lion,  while  he  would  make  a  mock  of 
you.  He  would  —  I  have  always  been  proud  of  the  fact 
that  I  discovered  him,"  I  said,  turning  the  conversation 
as  Wolf  Larsen  stepped  on  the  poop  and  joined  us.  "  The 
editors  were  afraid  of  him  and  the  publishers  would  have 
none  of  him.  But  I  knew,  and  his  genius  and  my  judg- 
ment were  vindicated  when  he  made  that  magnificent  hit 
with  his  '  Forge/  " 

"  And  it  was  a  newspaper  poem,"  she  said  glibly. 

"  It  did  happen  to  see  the  light  in  a  newspaper,"  I 


210  THE  SEA-WOLF 

replied,  "  but  not  because  the  magazine  editors  had  been 
denied  a  glimpse  at  it." 

"  We  were  talking  of  Harris,"  I  said  to  Wolf  Larsen. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  acknowledged.  "  I  remember  the  '  Forge/ 
Filled  with  pretty  sentiments  and  an  almighty  faith  in 
human  illusions.  By  the  way,  Mr.  Van  Weyden,  you'd 
better  look  in  on  Cooky.  He's  complaining  and  restless." 

Thus  was  I  bluntly  dismissed  from  the  poop,  only  to 
find  Mugridge  sleeping  soundly  from  the  morphine  I  had 
given  him.  I  made  no  haste  to  return  on  deck,  and  when 
I  did  I  was  gratified  to  see  Miss  Brewster  in  animated 
conversation  with  Wolf  Larsen.  As  I  say,  the  sight 
gratified  me.  She  was  following  my  advice.  And  yet  I 
was  conscious  of  a  slight  shock  or  hurt  in  that  she  was 
able  to  do  the  thing  I  had  begged  her  to  do  and  which  she 
had  notably  disliked. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

BRAVE  winds,  blowing  fair,  swiftly  drove  the  Ghost  north- 
ward into  the  seal  herd.  We  encountered  it  well  up  to  the 
forty-fourth  parallel,  in  a  raw  and  stormy  sea  across  which 
the  wind  harried  the  fog-banks  in  eternal  flight.  For  days 
at  a  time  we  could  never  see  the  sun  nor  take  an  observa- 
tion; then  the  wind  would  sweep  the  face  of  the  ocean 
clean,  the  waves  would  ripple  and  flash,  and  we  would  learn 
where  we  were.  A  day  of  clear  weather  might  follow,  or 
three  days  or  four,  and  then  the  fog  would  settle  down 
upon  us,  seemingly  thicker  than  ever. 

The  hunting  was  perilous;  yet  the  boats,  lowered  day 
after  day,  were  swallowed  up  in  the  gray  obscurity,  and 
were  seen  no  more  till  nightfall,  and  often  not  till  long 
after,  when  they  would  creep  in  like  sea-wraiths,  one  by 
one,  out  of  the  gray.  Wainwright, — the  hunter  whom 
Wolf  Larsen  had  stolen  with  boat  and  men,  —  took  ad- 
vantage of  the  veiled  sea  and  escaped.  He  disappeared 
one  morning  in  the  encircling  fog  with  his  two  men,  and 
we  never  saw  them  again,  though  it  was  not  many  days 
when  we  learned  that  they  had  passed  from  schooner  to 
schooner  until  they  finally  regained  their  own. 

This  was  the  thing  I  had  set  my  mind  upon  doing,  but 
the  opportunity  never  offered.  It  was  not  in  the  mate's 
province  to  go  out  in  the  boats,  and  though  I  manoeuvred 
cunningly  for  it,  Wolf  Larsen  never  granted  me  the  privi- 
lege. Had  he  done  so,  I  should  have  managed  somehow 
to  carry  Miss  Brewster  away  with  me.  As  it  was,  the 

211 


212  THE  SEA-WOLF 

situation  was  approaching  a  stage  which  I  was  afraid  to 
consider.  I  involuntarily  shunned  the  thought  of  it,  and 
yet  the  thought  continually  arose  in  my  mind  like  a  haunt- 
ing spectre. 

I  had  read  sea-romances  in  my  time,  wherein  figured,  as 
a  matter  of  course,  the  lone  woman  in  the  midst  of  a  ship- 
load of  men ;  but  I  learned,  now,  that  I  had  never  com- 
prehended the  deeper  significance  of  such  a  situation  —  the 
thing  the  writers  harped  upon  and  exploited  so  thoroughly. 
And  here  it  was,  now,  and  I  was  face  to  face  with  it. 
That  it  should  be  as  vital  as  possible,  it  required  no  more 
than  that  the  woman  should  be  Maud  Brewster,  who  now 
charmed  me  in  person  as  she  had  long  charmed  me  through 
her  work. 

No  one  more  out  of  environment  could  be  imagined. 
She  was  a  delicate,  ethereal  creature,  swaying  and  willowy, 
light  and  graceful  of  movement.  It  never  seemed  to  me 
that  she  walked,  or,  at  least,  walked  after  the  ordinary 
manner  of  mortals.  Hers  was  an  extreme  lithesomeness, 
and  she  moved  with  a  certain  indefinable  airiness,  approach- 
ing one  as  down  might  float  or  as  a  bird  on  noiseless  wings. 

She  was  like  a  bit  of  Dresden  china,  and  I  was  continu- 
ally impressed  with  what  I  may  call  her  fragility.  As  at 
the  time  I  caught  her  arm  when  helping  her  below,  so  at 
any  time  I  was  quite  prepared,  should  stress  or  rough 
handling  befall  her,  to  see  her  crumble  away.  I  have 
never  seen  body  and  spirit  in  such  perfect  accord.  De- 
scribe her  verse,  as  the  critics  have  described  it,  as  subli- 
mated and  spiritual,  and  you  have  described  her  body.  It 
seemed  to  partake  of  her  soul,  to  have  analogous  attributes, 
and  to  link  it  to  life  with  the  slenderest  of  chains.  In- 
deed, she  trod  the  earth  lightly,  and  in  her  constitution 
there  was  little  of  the  robust  clay. 


THE  SEA-WOLF  213 

She  was  in  striking  contrast  to  Wolf  Larsen.  Each  was 
nothing  that  the  other  was,  everything  that  the  other  was 
not.  I  noted  them  walking  the  deck  together  one  morn- 
ing, and  I  likened  them  to  the  extreme  ends  of  the  human 
ladder  of  evolution  —  the  one  the  culmination  of  all  sav- 
agery, the  other  the  finished  product  of  the  finest  civiliza- 
tion. True,  Wolf  Larsen  possessed  intellect  to  an  unusual 
degree,  but  it  was  directed  solely  to  the  exercise  of  his 
savage  instincts  and  made  him  but  the  more  formidable 
a  savage.  He  was  splendidly  muscled,  a  heavy  man,  and 
though  he  strode  with  the  certitude  and  directness  of  the 
physical  man,  there  was  nothing  heavy  about  his  stride. 
The  jungle  and  the  wilderness  lurked  in  the  uplift  and 
downput  of  his  feet.  He  was  cat-footed,  and  lithe,  and 
strong,  always  strong.  I  likened  him  to  some  great  tiger, 
a  beast  of  prowess  and  prey.  He  looked  it,  and  the  pierc- 
ing glitter  that  arose  at  times  in  his  eyes  was  the  same 
piercing  glitter  I  had  observed  in  the  eyes  of  caged  leop- 
ards and  other  preying  creatures  of  the  wild. 

But  this  day,  as  I  noted  them  pacing  up  and  down,  I 
saw  that  it  was  she  who  terminated  the  walk.  They  came 
up  to  where  I  was  standing  by  the  entrance  to  the  com- 
panionway.  Though  she  betrayed  it  by  no  outward  sign, 
I  felt,  somehow,  that  she  was  greatly  perturbed.  She 
made  some  idle  remark,  looking  at  me,  and  laughed 
lightly  enough;  but  I  saw  her  eyes  return  to  his,  invol- 
untarily, as  though  fascinated ;  then  they  fell,  but  not 
swiftly  enough  to  veil  the  rush  of  terror  that  filled  them. 

It  was  in  his  eyes  that  I  saw  the  cause  of  her  perturba- 
tion. Ordinarily  gray  and  cold  and  harsh,  they  were  now 
warm  and  soft  and  golden,  and  all  adance  with  tiny  lights 
that  dimmed  and  faded,  or  welled  up  till  the  full  orbs  were 
flooded  with  a  glowing  radiance.  Perhaps  it  was  to  this 


214  THE  SEA- WOLF 

that  the  golden  color  was  due ;  but  golden  his  eyes  were, 
enticing  and  masterful,  at  the  same  time  luring  and  com- 
pelling, and  speaking  a  demand  and  clamor  of  the  blood 
which  no  woman,  much  less  Maud  Brewster,  could  mis- 
understand. 

Her  own  terror  rushed  upon  me,  and  in  that  moment  of 
fear,  —  the  most  terrible  fear  a  man  can  experience,  —  I 
knew  that  in  inexpressible  ways  she  was  dear  to  me.  The 
knowledge  that  I  loved  her  rushed  upon  me  with  the  terror, 
and  with  both  emotions  gripping  at  my  heart  and  causing 
my  blood  at  the  same  time  to  chill  and  to  leap  riotously,  I 
felt  myself  drawn  by  a  power  without  me  and  beyond  me, 
and  found  my  eyes  returning  against  my  will  to  gaze  into 
the  eyes  of  Wolf  Larsen.  But  he  had  recovered  himself. 
The  golden  color  and  the  dancing  lights  were  gone.  Cold 
and  gray  and  glittering  they  were  as  he  bowed  brusquely 
and  turned  away. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  she  whispered,  with  a  shiver.  "  I  am  so 
afraid." 

I,  too,  was  afraid,  and  what  of  my  discovery  of  how 
much  she  meant  to  me  my  mind  was  in  a  turmoil ;  but  I 
succeeded  in  answering  quite  calmly : 

"  All  will  come  right,  Miss  Brewster.  Trust  me,  it  will 
come  right." 

She  answered  with  a  grateful  little  smile  that  sent  my 
heart  pounding,  and  started  to  descend  the  companion-stairs. 

For  a  long  while  I  remained  standing  where  she  had 
left  me.  There  was  imperative  need  to  adjust  myself,  to 
consider  the  significance  of  the  changed  aspect  of  things. 
It  had  come,  at  last,  love  had  come,  when  I  least  expected 
it  and  under  the  most  forbidding  conditions.  Of  course, 
my  philosophy  had  always  recognized  the  inevitableness 
of  the  love-call  sooner  or  later ;  but  long  years  of  bookish 
silence  had  made  me  inattentive  and  unprepared. 


THE  SEA-WOLF  21$ 

And  now  it  had  come !  Maud  Brewster !  My  memory 
flashed  back  to  that  first  thin  little  volume  on  my  desk, 
and  I  saw  before  me,  as  though  in  the  concrete,  the  row 
of  thin  little  volumes  on  my  library  shelf.  How  I  had  wel- 
comed each  of  them  !  Each  year  one  had  come  from  the 
press,  and  to  me  each  was  the  advent  of  the  year.  They 
had  voiced  a  kindred  intellect  and  spirit,  and  as  such  I  had 
received  them  into  a  camaraderie  of  the  mind;  but  now 
their  place  was  in  my  heart. 

My  heart?  A  revulsion  of  feeling  came  over  me.  I 
seemed  to  stand  outside  myself  and  to  look  at  myself  in- 
credulously. Maud  Brewster !  Humphrey  Van  Weyden, 
the  "cold-blooded  fish,"  the  "emotionless  monster,"  the 
"  analytical  demon,"  of  Charley  Furuseth's  christening,  in 
love!  And  then,  without  rhyme  or  reason,  all  sceptical, 
my  mind  flew  back  to  a  small  biographical  note  in  the 
red-bound  "Who's  Who,"  and  I  said  to  myself,  "She  was 
born  in  Cambridge,  and  she  is  twenty-seven  years  old." 
And  then  I  said,  "Twenty-seven  years  old  and  still  free 
and  fancy  free  ? "  But  how  did  I  know  she  was  fancy 
free  ?  And  the  pang  of  new-born  jealousy  put  all  incredu- 
lity to  flight.  There  was  no  doubt  about  it.  I  was  jeal- 
ous; therefore  I  loved.  And  the  woman  I  loved  was 
Maud  Brewster. 

I,  Humphrey  Van  Weyden,  was  in  love!  And  again 
the  doubt  assailed  me.  Not  that  I  was  afraid  of  it,  how- 
ever, or  reluctant  to  meet  it.  On  the  contrary,  idealist  that 
I  was  to  the  most  pronounced  degree,  my  philosophy  had 
always  recognized  and  guerdoned  love  as  the  greatest 
thing  in  the  world,  the  aim  and  the  summit  of  being,  the 
most  exquisite  pitch  of  joy  and  happiness  to  which  life 
could  thrill,  the  thing  of  all  things  to  be  hailed  and  wel- 
comed and  taken  into  the  heart.  But  now  that  it  had  come 


2l6  THE  SEA-WOLF 

I  could  not  believe.     I  could  not  be  so  fortunate.     It  was 
too  good,  too  good  to  be  true.     Symons's  lines  came  into 

my  head : 

"  I  wandered  all  these  years  among 
A  world  of  women,  seeking  you." 

And  then  I  had  ceased  seeking.  It  was  not  for  me,  this 
greatest  thing  in  the  world,  I  had  decided.  Furuseth  was 
right ;  I  was  abnormal,  an  "  emotionless  monster,"  a  strange 
bookish  creature,  capable  of  pleasuring  in  sensations  only 
of  the  mind.  And  though  I  had  been  surrounded  by 
women  all  my  days,  my  appreciation  of  them  had  been 
aesthetic  and  nothing  more.  I  had  actually,  at  times,  con- 
sidered myself  outside  the  pale,  a  monkish  fellow  denied 
the  eternal  or  the  passing  passions  I  saw  and  understood 
so  well  in  others.  And  now  it  had  come !  Undreamed  of 
and  unheralded,  it  had  come.  In  what  could  have  been 
no  less  than  an  ecstasy,  I  left  my  post  at  the  head  of  the 
companionway  and  started  along  the  deck,  murmuring  to 
myself  those  beautiful  lines  of  Mrs.  Browning : 

"  I  lived  with  visions  for  my  company 
Instead  of  men  and  women  years  ago, 
And  found  them  gentle  mates,  nor  thought  to  know 
A  sweeter  music  than  they  played  to  me." 

But  the  sweeter  music  was  playing  in  my  ears,  and  I 
was  blind  and  oblivious  to  all  about  me.  The  sharp  voice 
of  Wolf  Larsen  aroused  me. 

"  What  the  hell  are  you  up  to  ? "  he  was  demanding. 

I  had  strayed  forward  where  the  sailors  were  painting, 
and  I  came  to  myself  to  find  my  advancing  foot  on  the 
verge  of  overturning  a  paint-pot. 

"  Sleep-walking,  sunstroke,  —  what  ? "  he  barked. 

"  No ;  indigestion,"  I  retorted,  and  continued  my  walk  as 
if  nothing  untoward  had  occurred. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

AMONG  the  most  vivid  memories  of  my  life  are  those  of 
the  events  on  the  Ghost  which  occurred  during  the  forty 
hours  succeeding  the  discovery  of  my  love  for  Maud 
Brewster.  I,  who  had  lived  my  life  in  quiet  places,  only 
to  enter  at  the  age  of  thirty-five  upon  a  course  of  the  most 
irrational  adventure  I  could  have  imagined,  never  had 
more  incident  and  excitement  crammed  into  any  forty 
hours  of  my  experience.  Nor  can  I  quite  close  my  ears 
to  a  small  voice  of  pride  which  tells  me  I  did  not  do  so 
badly,  all  things  considered. 

To  begin  with,  at  the  midday  dinner,  Wolf  Larsen 
informed  the  hunters  that  they  were  to  eat  thenceforth  in 
the  steerage.  It  was  an  unprecedented  thing  on  sealing 
schooners,  where  it  is  the  custom  for  the  hunters  to  rank 
unofficially  as  officers.  He  gave  no  reason,  but  his  mo- 
tive was  obvious  enough.  Horner  and  Smoke  had  been 
displaying  a  gallantry  toward  Maud  Brewster,  ludicrous 
in  itself  and  inoffensive  to  her,  but  to  him  evidently  dis- 
tasteful. 

The  announcement  was  received  with  black  silence, 
though  the  other  four  hunters  glanced  significantly  at  the 
two  who  had  been  the  cause  of  their  banishment.  Jock 
Horner,  quiet  as  was  his  way,  gave  no  sign  ;  but  the  blood 
surged  darkly  across  Smoke's  forehead,  and  he  half  opened 
his  mouth  to  speak.  Wolf  Larsen  was  watching  him, 
waiting  for  him,  the  steely  glitter  in  his  eyes ;  but  Smoke 
closed  his  mouth  again  without  having  said  anything. 

217 


2l8  THE  SEA- WOLF 

"Anything  to  say?"  the  other  demanded  aggressively. 

It  was  a  challenge,  but  Smoke  refused  to  accept  it. 

"  About  what  ? "  he  asked,  so  innocently  that  Wolf 
Larsen  was  disconcerted,  while  the  others  smiled. 

"Oh,  nothing,"  Wolf  Larsen  said  lamely.  "I  just 
thought  you  might  want  to  register  a  kick." 

"  About  what  ? "  asked  the  imperturbable  Smoke. 

Smoke's  mates  were  now  smiling  broadly.  His  captain 
could  have  killed  him,  and  I  doubt  not  that  blood  would 
have  flowed  had  not  Maud  Brewster  been  present.  For 
that  matter,  it  was  her  presence  which  enabled  Smoke  to 
act  as  he  did.  He  was  too  discreet  and  cautious  a  man  to 
incur  Wolf  Larsen' s  anger  at  a  time  when  that  anger  could 
be  expressed  in  terms  stronger  than  words.  I  was  in  fear 
that  a  struggle  might  take  place,  but  a  cry  from  the  helms- 
man made  it  easy  for  the  situation  to  save  itself. 

"  Smoke  ho ! "  the  cry  came  down  the  open  companion- 
way. 

"  How's  it  bear  ? "  Wolf  Larsen  called  up. 

"  Dead  astern,  sir." 

"  Maybe  it's  a  Russian,"  suggested  Latimer. 

His  words  brought  anxiety  into  the  faces  of  the  other 
hunters.  A  Russian  could  mean  but  one  thing  —  a  cruiser. 
The  hunters,  never  more  than  roughly  aware  of  the  posi- 
tion of  the  ship,  nevertheless  knew  that  we  were  close  to 
the  boundaries  of  the  forbidden  sea,  while  Wolf  Larsen's 
record  as  a  poacher  was  notorious.  All  eyes  centred 
upon  him. 

"  We're  dead  safe,"  he  assured  them  with  a  laugh.  "  No 
salt  mines  this  time,  Smoke.  But  I'll  tell  you  what  —  I'll 
lay  odds  of  five  to  one  it's  the  Macedonia" 

No  one  accepted  his  offer  and  he  went  on.  "  In  which 
event,  I'll  lay  ten  to  one  there's  trouble  breezing  up." 


THE  SEA-WOLF  2 19 

"No,  thank  you,"  Latimer  spoke  up.  "I  don't  object 
to  losing  my  money,  but  I  like  to  get  a  run  for  it,  anyway. 
There  never  was  a  time  when  there  wasn't  trouble  when 
you  and  that  brother  of  yours  got  together,  and  I'll  lay 
twenty  to  one  on  that" 

A  general  smile  followed,  in  which  Wolf  Larsen  joined, 
and  the  dinner  went  on  smoothly,  thanks  to  me,  for  he 
treated  me  abominably  the  rest  of  the  meal,  sneering  at 
me  and  patronizing  me  till  I  was  all  a-tremble  with  sup- 
pressed rage.  Yet  I  knew  I  must  control  myself  for  Maud 
Brewster's  sake,  and  I  received  my  reward  when  her  eyes 
caught  mine  for  a  fleeting  second,  and  they  said,  as  dis- 
tinctly as  if  she  spoke,  "Be  brave,  be  brave." 

We  left  the  table  to  go  on  deck,  for  a  steamer  was  a 
welcome  break  in  the  monotony  of  the  sea  on  which  we 
floated,  while  the  conviction  that  it  was  Death  Larsen  and 
the  Macedonia  added  to  the  excitement.  The  stiff  breeze 
and  heavy  sea  which  had  sprung  up  the  previous  after- 
noon had  been  moderating  all  morning,  so  that  it  was  now 
possible  to  lower  the  boats  for  an  afternoon's  hunt.  The 
hunting  promised  to  be  profitable.  We  had  sailed  since 
daylight  across  a  sea  barren  of  seals,  and  were  now  running 
into  the  herd. 

The  smoke  was  still  miles  astern,  but  overhauling  us 
rapidly,  when  we  lowered  our  boats.  They  spread  out  and 
struck  a  northerly  course  across  the  ocean.  Now  and  again 
we  saw  a  sail  lower,  heard  the  reports  of  the  shotguns, 
and  saw  the  sail  go  up  again.  The  seals  were  thick,  the 
wind  was  dying  away;  everything  favored  a  big  catch.  As 
we  ran  off  to  get  our  leeward  position  of  the  last  lee  boat, 
we  found  the  ocean  fairly  carpeted  with  sleeping  seals. 
They  were  all  about  us,  thicker  than  I  had  ever  seen  them 
before,  in  twos  and  threes  and  bunches,  stretched  full 


22O  THE  SEA-WOLF 

length  on  the  surface  and  sleeping  for  all  the  world  like 
so  many  lazy  young  dogs. 

Under  the  approaching  smoke  the  hull  and  upperworks 
of  a  steamer  were  growing  larger.  It  was  the  Macedonia. 
I  read  her  name  through  the  glasses  as  she  passed  by 
scarcely  a  mile  to  starboard.  Wolf  Larsen  looked  sav- 
agely at  the  vessel,  while  Maud  Brewster  was  curious. 

"  Where  is  the  trouble  you  were  so  sure  was  breezing 
up,  Captain  Larsen  ? "  she  asked  gayly. 

He  glanced  at  her,  a  moment's  amusement  softening  his 
features. 

"  What  did  you  expect  ?  That  they'd  come  aboard  and 
cut  our  throats  ?  " 

"  Something  like  that,"  she  confessed.  "  You  under- 
stand, seal-hunters  are  so  new  and  strange  to  me  that  I 
am  quite  ready  to  expect  anything." 

He  nodded  his  head.  "Quite  right,  quite  right.  Your 
error  is  that  you  failed  to  expect  the  worst." 

"Why,  what  can  be  worse  than  cutting  our  throats?" 
she  asked,  with  pretty  narve  surprise. 

"  Cutting  our  purses,"  he  answered.  "  Man  is  so  made 
these  days  that  his  capacity  for  living  is  determined  by 
the  money  'he  possesses." 

"  *  Who  steals  my  purse  steals  trash,' "  she  quoted. 

"  Who  steals  my  purse  steals  my  right  to  live,"  was  the 
reply,  "old  saws  to  the  contrary.  For  he  steals  my 
bread  and  meat  and  bed,  and  in  so  doing  imperils  my  life. 
There  are  not  enough  soup-kitchens  and  bread-lines  to  go 
around,  you  know,  and  when  men  have  nothing  in  their 
purses  they  usually  die,  and  die  miserably  —  unless  they 
are  able  to  fill  their  purses  pretty  speedily." 

"  But  I  fail  to  see  that  this  steamer  has  any  designs  on 
your  purse." 


THE  SEA-WOLF  221 

"  Wait  and  you  will  see,"  he  answered  grimly. 

We  did  not  have  long  to  wait.  Having  passed  several 
miles  beyond  our  line  of  boats,  the  Macedonia  proceeded 
to  lower  her  own.  We  knew  she  carried  fourteen  boats  to 
our  five,  (we  were  one  short  through  the  desertion  of  Wain- 
wright),  and  she  began  dropping  them  far  to  leeward  of 
our  last  boat,  continued  dropping  them  athwart  our  course, 
and  finished  dropping  them  far  to  windward  of  our  first 
weather  boat.  The  hunting,  for  us,  was  spoiled.  There 
were  no  seals  behind  us,  and  ahead  of  us  the  line  of  four- 
teen boats,  like  a  huge  broom,  swept  the  herd  before  it. 

Our  boats  hunted  across  the  two  or  three  miles  of  water 
between  them  and  the  point  where  the  Macedonia's  had 
been  dropped,  and  then  headed  for  home.  The  wind  had 
fallen  to  a  whisper,  the  ocean  was  growing  calmer  and 
calmer,  and  this,  coupled  with  the  presence  of  the  great 
herd,  made  a  perfect  hunting  day — one  of  the  two  or 
three  days  to  be  encountered  in  the  whole  of  a  lucky 
season.  An  angry  lot  of  men,  boat-pullers  and  steerers 
as  well  as  hunters,  swarmed  over  our  side.  Each  man 
felt  that  he  had  been  robbed ;  and  the  boats  were  hoisted 
in  amid  curses,  which,  if  curses  had  power,  would  have 
settled  Death  Larsen  for  all  eternity  —  "  Dead  and  damned 
for  a  dozen  iv  eternities,"  commented  Louis,  his  eyes 
twinkling  up  at  me  as  he  rested  from  hauling  taut  the 
lashings  of  his  boat. 

"Listen  to  them,  and  find  if  it  is  hard  to  discover 
the  most  vital  thing  in  their  souls,"  said  Wolf  Larsen. 
"  Faith  ?  and  love  ?  and  high  ideals  ?  The  good  ?  the 
beautiful  ?  the  true  ? " 

"Their  innate  sense  of  right  has  been  violated,"  Maud 
Brewster  said,  joining  the  conversation. 

She  was  standing  a  dozen  feet  away,  one  hand  resting 


222  THE  SEA-WOLF 

on  the  main  shrouds  and  her  body  swaying  gently  to  the 
slight  roll  of  the  ship.  She  had  not  raised  her  voice,  and 
yet  I  was  struck  by  its  clear  and  bell-like  tone.  Ah,  it 
was  sweet  in  my  ears!  I  scarcely  dared  look  at  her  just 
then,  for  the  fear  of  betraying  myself.  A  boy's  cap 
was  perched  on  her  head,  and  her  hair,  light  brown  and 
arranged  in  a  loose  and  fluffy  order  that  caught  the  sun, 
seemed  an  aureole  about  the  delicate  oval  of  her  face. 
She  was  positively  bewitching,  and,  withal,  sweetly  spiritu- 
elle,  if  not  saintly.  All  my  old-time  marvel  at  life  returned 
to  me  at  sight  of  this  splendid  incarnation  of  it,  and  Wolf 
Larsen's  cold  explanation  of  life  and  its  meaning  was  truly 
ridiculous  and  laughable. 

"A  sentimentalist,"  he  sneered,  "like  Mr.  Van  Weyden. 
Those  men  are  cursing  because  their  desires  have  been 
outraged.  That  is  all.  What  desires  ?  The  desires  for 
the  good  grub  and  soft  beds  ashore  which  a  handsome 
pay-day  brings  them  —  the  women  and  the  drink,  the 
gorging  and  the  beastliness  which  so  truly  expresses 
them,  the  best  that  is  in  them,  their  highest  aspirations, 
their  ideals,  if  you  please.  The  exhibition  they  make  of 
their  feelings  is  not  a  touching  sight,  yet  it  shows  how 
deeply  they  have  been  touched,  how  deeply  their  purses 
have  been  touched ;  for  to  lay  hands  on  their  purses  is  to 
lay  hands  on  their  souls." 

"  You  hardly  behave  as  if  your  purse  had  been  touched," 
she  said,  smilingly. 

"  Then  it  so  happens  that  I  am  behaving  differently,  for 
my  purse  and  my  soul  have  both  been  touched.  At  the 
current  price  of  skins  in  the  London  market,  and  based  on 
a  fair  estimate  of  what  the  afternoon's  catch  would  have 
been  had  not  the  Macedonia  hogged  it,  the  Ghost  has  lost 
about  fifteen  hundred  dollars'  worth  of  skins,," 


THE  SEA-WOLF  223 

"  You  speak  so  calmly  —  "  she  began. 

"But  I  do  not  feel  calm;  I  could  kill  the  man  who 
robbed  me,"  he  interrupted.  "  Yes,  yes,  I  know,  and  that 
man  my  brother  —  more  sentiment !  Bah !  " 

His  face  underwent  a  sudden  change.  His  voice  was 
less  harsh  and  wholly  sincere  as  he  said : 

"You  must  be  happy,  you  sentimentalists,  really  and 
truly  happy  at  dreaming  and  finding  things  good,  and,  be- 
cause you  find  some  of  them  good,  feeling  good  yourself. 
Now,  tell  me,  you  two,  do  you  find  me  good  ? " 

"  You  are  good  to  look  upon  —  in  a  way,"  I  qualified. 

"There  are  in  you  all  powers  for  good,"  was  Maud 
Brewster's  answer. 

"  There  you  are  !  "  he  cried  at  her,  half  angrily.  "  Your 
words  are  empty  to  me.  There  is  nothing  clear  and  sharp 
and  definite  about  the  thought  you  have  expressed.  You 
cannot  pick  it  up  in  your  two  hands  and  look  at  it.  In 
point  of  fact,  it  is  not  a  thought.  It  is  a  feeling,  a  senti- 
ment, a  something  based  upon  illusion  and  not  a  product 
of  the  intellect  at  all." 

As  he  went  on  his  voice  again  grew  soft,  and  a  confiding 
note  came  into  it.  "  Do  you  know,  I  sometimes  catch  my- 
self wishing  that  I,  too,  were  blind  to  the  facts  of  life  and 
only  knew  its  fancies  and  illusions.  They're  wrong,  all 
wrong,  of  course,  and  contrary  to  reason ;  but  in  the  face 
of  them  my  reason  tells  me,  wrong  and  most  wrong,  that 
to  dream  and -live  illusions  gives  greater  delight.  And 
after  all,  delight  is  the  wage  for  living.  Without  delight, 
living  is  a  worthless  act.  To  labor  at  living  and  be  un- 
paid is  worse  than  to  be  dead.  He  who  delights  the  most 
lives  the  most,  and  your  dreams  and  unrealities  are  less 
disturbing  to  you  and  more  gratifying  than  are  my  facts 
to  me." 


224  THE  SEA-WOLF 

He  shook  his  head  slowly,  pondering. 

"  I  often  doubt,  I  often  doubt,  the  worthwhileness  of 
reason.  Dreams  must  be  more  substantial  and  satisfying. 
Emotional  delight  is  more  filling  and  lasting  than  intellec- 
tual delight ;  and,  besides,  you  pay  for  your  moments  of  in- 
tellectual delight  by  having  the  blues.  Emotional  delight 
is  followed  by  no  more  than  jaded  senses  which  speedily 
recuperate.  I  envy  you,  I  envy  you." 

He  stopped  abruptly,  and  then  on  his  lips  formed  one 
of  his  strange  quizzical  smiles,  as  he  added : 

"It's  from  my  brain  I  envy  you,  take  notice,  and  not 
from  my  heart.  My  reason  dictates  it.  The  envy  is  an 
intellectual  product.  I  am  like  a  sober  man  looking  upon 
drunken  men,  and,  greatly  weary,  wishing  he,  too,  were 
drunk." 

"  Or  like  a  wise  man  looking  upon  fools  and  wishing  he, 
too,  were  a  fool,"  I  laughed. 

"Quite  so,"  he  said.  "You  are  a  blessed,  bankrupt 
pair  of  fools.  You  have  no  facts  in  your  pocketbook." 

"  Yet  we  spend  as  freely  as  you,"  was  Maud  Brewster's 
contribution. 

"  More  freely,  because  it  costs  you  nothing." 

"  And  because  we  draw  upon  eternity,"  she  retorted. 

"  Whether  you  do  or  think  you  do,  it's  the  same  thing. 
You  spend  what  you  haven't  got,  and  in  return  you  get 
greater  value  from  spending  what  you  haven't  got  than  I 
get  from  spending  what  I  have  got,  and  what  I  have 
sweated  to  get." 

"Why  don't  you  change  the  basis  of  your  coinage, 
then  ?  "  she  queried  teasingly. 

He  looked  at  her  quickly,  half -hopefully,  and  then  said, 
all  regretfully :  "  Too  late.  I'd  like  to,  perhaps,  but  I 
can't  My  pocketbook  is  stuffed  with  the  old  coinage, 


THE  SEA-WOLF  22$ 

and  it's  a  stubborn  thing.     I  can  never  bring  myself  to 
recognize  anything  else  as  valid." 

He  ceased  speaking,  and  his  gaze  wandered  absently 
past  her  and  became  lost  in  the  placid  sea.  The  old 
primal  melancholy  was  strong  upon  him.  He  was  quiver- 
ing to  it.  He  had  reasoned  himself  into  a  spellof  the 
blues,  and  within  few  hours  one  could  look  for  the  devil 
within  him  to  be  up  and  stirring.  I  remembered  Charley 
Furuseth,  and  knew  this  man's  sadness  as  the  penalty 
which  the  materialist  ever  pays  for  his  materialism. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

"  YOU'VE  been  on  deck,  Mr.  Van  Weyden,"  Wolf  Lar- 
sen  said,  the  following  morning  at  the  breakfast  table. 
"  How  do  things  look  ? " 

"Clear  enough,"  I  answered,  glancing  at  the  sunshine 
which  streamed  down  the  open  companionway.  "  Fair 
westerly  breeze,  with  a  promise  of  stiffening,  if  Louis  pre- 
dicts correctly." 

He  nodded  his  head  in  a  pleased  way.  "  Any  signs  of 
fog?" 

"Thick  banks  in  the  north  and  northwest." 

He  nodded  his  head  again,  evincing  even  greater  satis- 
faction than  before. 

"  What  of  the  Macedonia  ?  " 

"  Not  sighted,"  I  answered. 

I  could  have  sworn  his  face  fell  at  the  intelligence,  but 
why  he  should  be  disappointed  I  could  not  conceive. 

I  was  soon  to  learn.  "  Smoke  ho ! "  came  the  hail  from 
on  deck,  and  his  face  brightened. 

"  Good  !  "  he  exclaimed,  and  left  the  table  at  once  to  go 
on  deck  and  into  the  steerage,  where  the  hunters  were 
taking  the  first  breakfast  of  their  exile. 

Maud  Brewster  and  I  scarcely  touched  the  food  before 
us,  gazing,  instead,  in  silent  anxiety  at  each  other,  and 
listening  to  Wolf  Larsen's  voice,  which  easily  penetrated 
the  cabin  through  the  intervening  bulkhead.  He  spoke 
at  length,  and  his  conclusion  was  greeted  with  a  wild  roar 
of  cheers.  The  bulkhead  was  too  thick  for  us  to  hear 

226 


THE  SEA-WOLF  22? 

what  he  said ;  but  whatever  it  was  it  affected  the  hunters 
strongly,  for  the  cheering  was  followed  by  loud  exclama- 
tions and  shouts  of  joy. 

From  the  sounds  on  deck  I  knew  that  the  sailors  had 
been  routed  out  and  were  preparing  to  lower  the  boats. 
Maud  Brewster  accompanied  me  on  deck,  but  I  left  her  at 
the  break  of  the  poop,  where  she  might  watch  the  scene 
and  not  be  in  it.  The  sailors  must  have  learned  whatever 
project  was  on  hand,  and  the  vim  and  snap  they  put  into 
their  work  attested  their  enthusiasm.  The  hunters  came 
trooping  on  deck  with  shotguns  and  ammunition-boxes, 
and,  most  unusual,  their  rifles.  The  latter  were  rarely 
taken  in  the  boats,  for  a  seal,  shot  at  long  range  with  a 
rifle,  invariably  sank  before  a  boat  could  reach  it.  But 
each  hunter  this  day  had  his  rifle  and  a  large  supply  of 
cartridges.  I  noticed  they  grinned  with  satisfaction  when- 
ever they  looked  at  the  Macedonia's  smoke,  which  was  ris- 
ing higher  and  higher  as  she  approached  from  the  west. 

The  five  boats  went  over  the  side  with  a  rush,  spread  out 
like  the  ribs  of  a  fan,  and  set  a  northerly  course,  as  on  the 
preceding  afternoon,  for  us  to  follow.  I  watched  for  some 
time,  curiously,  but  there  seemed  nothing  extraordinary 
about  their  behavior.  They  lowered  sails,  shot  seals,  and 
hoisted  sails  again,  and  continued  on  their  way  as  I  had  al- 
ways seen  them  do.  Trie  Macedonia  repeated  her  perform- 
ance of  yesterday,  "hogging"  the  sea  by  dropping  her 
line  of  boats  in  advance  of  ours  and  across  our  course. 
Fourteen  boats  require  a  considerable  spread  of  ocean  for 
comfortable  hunting,  and  when  she  had  completely  lapped 
our  line  she  continued  steaming  into  the  northeast,  drop- 
ping more  boats  as  she  went. 

"  What's  up  ? "  I  asked  Wolf  Larsen,  unable  longer  to 
keep  my  curiosity  in  check. 


228  THE  SEA-WOLF 

"Never  mind  what's  up,"  he  answered  gruffly.  "You 
won't  be  a  thousand  years  in  finding  out,  and  in  the  mean- 
time just  pray  for  plenty  of  wind." 

"  Oh,  well,  I  don't  mind  telling  you,"  he  said  the  next 
moment.  "  I'm  going  to  give  that  brother  of  mine  a  taste 
of  his  own  medicine.  In  short,  I'm  going  to  play  the  hog 
myself,  and  not  for  one  day,  but  for  the  rest  of  the  season, 

—  if  we're  in  luck." 

"  And  if  we're  not  ? "  I  queried. 

"  Not  to  be  considered,"  he  laughed.  "  We  simply  must 
be  in  luck,  or  it's  all  up  with  us." 

He  had  the  wheel  at  the  time,  and  I  went  forward  to  my 
hospital  in  the  forecastle,  where  lay  the  two  crippled  men, 
Nilson  and  Thomas  Mugridge.  Nilson  was  as  cheerful 
as  could  be  expected,  for  his  broken  leg  was  knitting 
nicely ;  but  the  Cockney  was  desperately  melancholy,  and 
I  was  aware  of  a  great  sympathy  for  the  unfortunate  crea- 
ture. And  the  marvel  of  it  was  that  still  he  lived  and 
clung  to  life.  The  brutal  years  had  reduced  his  meagre 
body  to  splintered  wreckage,  and  yet  the  spark  of  life 
within  burned  brightly  as  ever. 

"  With  an  artificial  foot,  —  and  they  make  excellent  ones, 

—  you  will  be  stumping  ships'  galleys  to  the  end  of  time," 
I  assured  him  jovially. 

But  his  answer  was  serious,  nay,  solemn.  "  I  don't  know 
about  wot  you  s'y,  Mr.  Van  W'yden,  but  I  do  know  I'll 
never  rest  'appy  till  I  see  that  'ell-'ound  bloody  well  dead. 
'E  cawn't  live  as  long  as  me.  'E's  got  no  right  to  live,  an' 
as  the  Good  Word  puts  it,  '  'E  shall  shorely  die,'  an'  I  s'y, 
'  Amen,  an'  damn  soon  at  that.' " 

When  I  returned  on  deck  I  found  Wolf  Larsen  steering 
mainly  with  one  hand,  while  with  the  other  hand  he  held 
the  marine  glasses  and  studied  the  situation  of  the  boats, 


THE  SEA-WOLF  229 

paying  particular  attention  to  the  position  of  the  Macedo* 
nia.  The  only  change  noticeable  in  our  boats  was  that 
they  had  hauled  close  on  the  wind  and  were  heading  sev- 
eral points  west  of  north.  Still,  I  could  not  see  the  expe- 
diency of  the  manoeuvre,  for  the  free  sea  was  still  inter- 
cepted by  the  Macedonia's  five  weather  boats,  which,  in 
turn,  had  hauled  close  on  the  wind.  Thus  they  slowly 
diverged  toward  the  west,  drawing  farther  away  from  the 
remainder  of  the  boats  in  their  line.  Our  boats  were  row- 
ing as  well  as  sailing.  Even  the  hunters  were  pulling,  and 
with  three  pairs  of  oars  in  the  water  they  rapidly  over- 
hauled what  I  may  appropriately  term  the  enemy. 

The  smoke  of  the  Macedonia  had  dwindled  to  a  dim  blot 
on  the  northeastern  horizon.  Of  the  steamer  herself  noth- 
ing was  to  be  seen.  We  had  been  loafing  along,  till  now, 
our  sails  shaking  half  the  time  and  spilling  the  wind ;  and 
twice,  for  short  periods,  we  had  been  hove  to.  But  there 
was  no  more  loafing.  Sheets  were  trimmed,  and  Wolf 
Larsen  proceeded  to  put  the  Ghost  through  her  paces.  We 
ran  past  our  line  of  boats  and  bore  down  upon  the  first 
weather  boat  of  the  other  line. 

"  Down  that  flying  jib,  Mr.  Van  Weyden,"  Wolf  Larsen 
commanded.  "And  stand  by  to  back  over  the  jibs." 

I  ran  forward  and  had  the  downhaul  of  the  flying  jib  all 
in  and  fast  as  we  slipped  by  the  boat  a  hundred  feet  to  lee- 
ward. The  three  men  in  it  gazed  at  us  suspiciously.  They 
had  been  hogging  the  sea,  and  they  knew  Wolf  Larsen, 
by  reputation  at  any  rate.  I  noted  that  the  hunter,  a  huge 
Scandinavian  sitting  in  the  bow,  held  his  rifle,  ready  to 
hand,  across  his  knees.  It  should  have  been  in  its  proper 
place  in  the  rack.  When  they  came  opposite  our  stern, 
Wolf  Larsen  greeted  them  with  a  wave  of  the  hand,  and 
cried: 


230  THE  SEA-WOLF 

"  Come  on  board  and  have  a  '  gam ' ! " 

"To  gam,"  among  the  sealing  schooners,  is  a  substitute 
for  the  verbs  "to  visit,"  "to  gossip."  It  expresses  the 
garrulity  of  the  sea  and  is  a  pleasant  break  in  the  monot- 
ony of  the  life. 

The  Ghost  swung  around  into  the  wind,  and  I  finished 
my  work  forward  in  time  to  run  aft  and  lend  a  hand  with 
the  main  sheet. 

"You  will  please  stay  on  deck,  Miss  Brewster,"  Wolf 
Larsen  said,  as  he  started  forward  to  meet  his  guest. 
"And  you,  too,  Mr.  Van  Weyden." 

The  boat  had  lowered  its  sail  and  run  alongside.  The 
hunter,  golden-bearded  like  a  sea-king,  came  over  the  rail 
and  dropped  on  deck.  But  his  hugeness  could  not  quite 
overcome  his  apprehensiveness.  Doubt  and  distrust  showed 
strongly  in  his  face.  It  was  a  transparent  face,  for  all  of  its 
hairy  shield,  and  advertised  instant  relief  when  he  glanced 
from  Wolf  Larsen  to  me,  noted  that  there  was  only  the 
pair  of  us,  and  then  glanced  over  his  own  two  men  who 
had  joined  him.  Surely  he  had  little  reason  to  be  afraid. 
He  towered  like  a  Goliath  above  Wolf  Larsen.  He  must 
have  measured  six  feet  eight  or  nine  inches  in  stature,  and 
I  subsequently  learned  his  weight  —  240  pounds.  And 
there  was  no  fat  about  him.  It  was  all  bone  and  muscle. 

A  return  of  apprehension  was  apparent,  when,  at  the 
top  of  the  companionway,  Wolf  Larsen  invited  him 
below.  But  he  reassured  himself  with  a  glance  down  at 
his  host  —  a  big  man  himself  but  dwarfed  by  the  propin- 
quity of  the  giant.  So  all  hesitancy  vanished,  and  the  pair 
descended  into  the  cabin.  In  the  meantime,  his  two  men, 
as  was  the  wont  of  visiting  sailors,  had  gone  forward  into 
the  forecastle  to  do  some  visiting  themselves. 

Suddenly,  from  the  cabin  came  a  great,  choking  bellow, 


THE  SEA-WOLF  231 

followed  by  all  the  sounds  of  a  furious  struggle.  It  was 
the  leopard  and  the  lion,  and  the  lion  made  all  the  noise. 
Wolf  Larsen  was  the  leopard. 

"You  see  the  sacredness  of  our  hospitality,"  I  said 
bitterly,  to  Maud  Brewster. 

She  nodded  her  head  that  she  heard,  and  I  noted  in  her 
face  the  signs  of  the  same  sickness  at  sight  or  sound  of 
violent  struggle  from  which  I  had  suffered  so  severely  dur- 
ing my  first  weeks  on  the  Ghost. 

"  Wouldn't  it  be  better  if  you  went  forward,  say  by  the 
steerage  companionway,  until  it  is  over  ? "  I  suggested. 

She  shook  her  head  and  gazed  at  me  pitifully.  She  was 
not  frightened,  but  appalled,  rather,  at  the  human  ani- 
mality  of  it. 

"  You  will  understand,"  I  took  advantage  of  the  oppor- 
tunity to  say,  "  whatever  part  I  take  in  what  is  going  on 
and  what  is  to  come,  that  I  am  compelled  to  take  it  —  if 
you  and  I  are  ever  to  get  out  of  this  scrape  with  our  lives." 

"It  is  not  nice  —  for  me,"  I  added. 

"  I  understand,"  she  said,  in  a  weak,  far-away  voice,  and 
her  eyes  showed  me  that  she  did  understand. 

The  sounds  from  below  soon  died  away.  Then  Wolf 
Larsen  came  alone  on  deck.  There  was  a  slight  flush 
under  his  bronze,  but  otherwise  he  bore  no  signs  of  the 
battle. 

"  Send  those  two  men  aft,  Mr.  Van  Weyden,"  he  said. 

I  obeyed,  and  a  minute  or  two  later  they  stood  before 
him. 

"  Hoist  in  your  boat,"  he  said  to  them.  "  Your  hunter's 
decided  to  stay  aboard  awhile  and  doesn't  want  it  pounding 
alongside." 

"  Hoist  in  your  boat,  I  said,"  he  repeated,  this  time  in 
sharper  tones  as  they  hesitated  to  do  his  bidding. 


232  THE  SEA-WOLF 

"  Who  knows?  you  may  have  to  sail  with  me  for  a  time," 
he  said,  quite  softly,  with  a  silken  threat  that  belied  the 
softness,  as  they  moved  slowly  to  comply,  "  and  we  might 
as  well  start  with  a  friendly  understanding.  Lively  now ! 
Death  Larsen  makes  you  jump  better  than  that,  and  you 
know  it!" 

Their  movements  perceptibly  quickened  under  his  coach- 
ing, and  as  the  boat  swung  inboard  I  was  sent  forward  to 
let  go  the  jibs.  Wolf  Larsen,  at  the  wheel,  directed  the 
Ghost  after  the  Macedonia's  second  weather  boat. 

Under  way,  and  with  nothing  for  the  time  being  to  do, 
I  turned  my  attention  to  the  situation  of  the  boats.  The 
Macedonia's  third  weather  boat  was  being  attacked  by  two 
of  ours,  the  fourth  by  our  remaining  three ;  and  the  fifth, 
turn  about,  was  taking  a  hand  in  the  defence  of  its  nearest 
mate.  The  fight  had  opened  at  long  distance,  and  the 
rifles  were  cracking  steadily.  A  quick,  snappy  sea  was 
being  kicked  up  by  the  wind,  a  condition  which  prevented 
fine  shooting ;  and  now  and  again,  as  we  drew  closer,  we 
could  see  the  bullets  zip-zipping  from  wave  to  wave. 

The  boat  we  were  pursuing  had  squared  away  and  was 
running  before  the  wind  to  escape  us,  and,  in  the  course  of 
its  flight,  to  take  part  in  repulsing  our  general  boat  attack. 

Attending  to  sheets  and  tacks  now  left  me  little  time  to 
see  what  was  taking  place,  but  I  happened  to  be  on  the 
poop  when  Wolf  Larsen  ordered  the  two  strange  sailors 
forward  and  into  the  forecastle.  They  went  sullenly,  but 
they  went.  He  next  ordered  Miss  Brewster  below,  and 
smiled  at  the  instant  horror  that  leapt  into  her  eyes. 

"You'll  find  nothing  grewsome  down  there,"  he  said, 
"  only  an  unhurt  man  securely  made  fast  to  the  ring-bolts. 
Bullets  are  liable  to  come  aboard,  and  I  don't  want  you 
killed,  you  know." 


THE  SEA-WOLF  233 

Even  as  he  spoke,  a  bullet  was  deflected  by  a  brass- 
capped  spoke  of  the  wheel  between  his  hands  and  screeched 
off  through  the  air  to  windward. 

"You  see,"  he  said  to  her;  and  then  to  me,  "Mr.  Van 
Weyden,  will  you  take  the  wheel  ? " 

Maud  Brewster  had  stepped  inside  the  companionway 
so  that  only  her  head  was  exposed.  Wolf  Larsen  had  pro- 
cured a  rifle  and  was  throwing  a  cartridge  into  the  barrel 
I  begged  her  with  my  eyes  to  go  below,  but  she  smiled 
and  said : 

"  We  may  be  feeble  land-creatures  without  legs,  but  we 
can  show  Captain  Larsen  that  we  are  at  least  as  brave 
as  he." 

He  gave  her  a  quick  look  of  admiration. 

"  I  like  you  a  hundred  per  cent  better  for  that,"  he  said, 
"  Books,  and  brains,  and  bravery.  You  are  well-rounded, 
a  blue-stocking  fit  to  be  the  wife  of  a  pirate  chief.  Ahemp 
we'll  discuss  that  later,"  he  smiled,  as  a  bullet  struck  solidly 
into  the  cabin  wall. 

I  saw  his  eyes  flash  golden  as  he  spoke,  and  I  saw  the 
terror  mount  in  her  own. 

"We  are  braver,"  I  hastened  to  say.  "At  least,  speak- 
ing for  myself,  I  know  I  am  braver  than  Captain  Larsen." 

It  was  I  who  was  now  favored  by  a  quick  look.  He 
was  wondering  if  I  were  making  fun  of  him.  I  put  three 
or  four  spokes  over  to  counteract  a  sheer  toward  the  wind 
on  the  part  of  the  Ghost,  and  then  steadied  her.  Wolf 
Larsen  was  still  waiting  an  explanation,  and  I  pointed 
down  to  my  knees. 

"You  will  observe  there,"  I  said,  "a  slight  trembling. 
It  is  because  I  am  afraid,  the  flesh  is  afraid;  and  I  am 
afraid  in  my  mind  because  I  do  not  wish  to  die.  But  my 
spirit  masters  the  trembling  flesh  and  the  qualms  of  the 


234  THE  SEA-WOLF 

mind.  I  am  more  than  brave.  I  am  courageous.  Your 
flesh  is  not  afraid.  You  are  not  afraid.  On  the  one  hand, 
it  costs  you  nothing  to  encounter  danger;  on  the  other 
hand,  it  even  gives  you  delight.  You  enjoy  it.  You  may 
be  unafraid,  Mr.  Larsen,  but  you  must  grant  that  the 
bravery  is  mine." 

"  You're  right,"  he  acknowledged  at  once.  "  I  never 
thought  of  it  in  that  way  before.  But  is  the  opposite 
true  ?  If  you  are  braver  than  I,  am  I  more  cowardly  than 
you  ? " 

We  both  laughed  at  the  absurdity,  and  he  dropped 
down  to  the  deck  and  rested  his  rifle  across  the  rail.  The 
bullets  we  had  received  had  travelled  nearly  a  mile,  but 
by  now  we  had  cut  that  distance  in  half.  He  fired  three 
careful  shots.  The  first  struck  fifty  feet  to  windward  of 
the  boat,  the  second  alongside,  and  at  the  third  the  boat- 
steerer  let  loose  his  steering-oar  and  crumpled  up  in  the 
bottom  of  the  boat. 

"  I  guess  that'll  fix  them,"  Wolf  Larsen  said,  rising  to 
his  feet.  "  I  couldn't  afford  to  let  the  hunter  have  it,  and 
there  is  a  chance  the  boat-puller  doesn't  know  how  to 
steer.  In  which  case,  the  hunter  cannot  steer  and  shoot 
at  the  same  time." 

His  reasoning  was  justified,  for  the  boat  rushed  at  once 
into  the  wind  and  the  hunter  sprang  aft  to  take  the  boat- 
steerer's  place.  There  was  no  more  shooting,  though  the 
rifles  were  still  cracking  merrily  from  the  other  boats. 

The  hunter  had  managed  to  get  the  boat  before  the  wind 
again,  but  we  ran  down  upon  it,  going  at  least  two  feet  to 
its  one.  A  hundred  yards  away,  I  saw  the  boat-puller 
pass  a  rifle  to  the  hunter.  Wolf  Larsen  went  amidships 
and  took  the  coil  of  the  throat-halyards  from  its  pin. 
Then  he  peered  over  the  rail  with  levelled  rifle.  Twice  I 


"  HE  SAW  WOLF  LARSEN'S  RIFLE  BEARING  UPON  HIM. 


THE  SEA-WOLF  335 

saw  the  hunter  let  go  the  steering-oar  with  one  hand,  reach 
for  his  rifle,  and  hesitate.  We  were  now  alongside  and 
foaming  past. 

"  Here,  you  ! "  Wolf  Larsen  cried  suddenly  to  the  boat- 
puller.  "  Take  a  turn !  " 

At  the  same  time  he  flung  the  coil  of  rope.  It  struck 
fairly,  nearly  knocking  the  man  over,  but  he  did  not  obey. 
Instead,  he  looked  to  his  hunter  for  orders.  The  hunter, 
in  turn,  was  in  a  quandary.  His  rifle  was  between  his 
knees,  but  if  he  let  go  the  steering-oar  in  order  to  shoot, 
the  boat  would  sweep  around  and  collide  with  the  schooner. 
Also  he  saw  Wolf  Larsen's  rifle  bearing  upon  him  and 
knew  he  would  be  shot  ere  he  could  get  his  rifle  into  play. 

"  Take  a  turn,"  he  said  quietly  to  the  man. 

The  boat-puller  obeyed,  taking  a  turn  around  the  little 
forward  thwart  and  paying  the  line  as  it  jerked  taut.  The 
boat  sheered  out  with  a  rush,  and  the  hunter  steadied  it 
to  a  parallel  course  some  twenty  feet  from  the  side  of  the 
Ghost. 

"  Now  get  that  sail  down  and  come  alongside ! "  Wolf 
Larsen  ordered. 

He  never  let  go  his  rifle,  even  passing  down  the  tackles 
with  one  hand.  When  they  were  fast,  bow  and  stern,  and 
the  two  uninjured  men  prepared  to  come  aboard,  the 
hunter  picked  up  his  rifle  as  if  to  place  it  in  a  secure 
position. 

"  Drop  it ! "  Wolf  Larsen  cried,  and  the  hunter  dropped 
it  as  though  it  were  hot  and  had  burned  him. 

Once  aboard,  the  two  prisoners  hoisted  in  the  boat  and 
under  Wolf  Larsen's  direction  carried  the  wounded  boat- 
Steerer  down  into  the  forecastle. 

"If  our  five  boats  do  as  well  as  you  and  I  have  done, 
we'll  have  a  pretty  full  crew,"  Wolf  Larsen  said  to  me. 


236  THE  SEA-WOLF 

"  The  man  you  shot  —  he  is,  I  hope  —  "  Maud  Brewstei 
quavered. 

"  In  the  shoulder,"  he  answered.  "  Nothing  serious. 
Mr.  Van  Weyden  will  pull  him  around  as  good  as  ever  in 
three  or  four  weeks." 

"  But  he  won't  pull  those  chaps  around,  from  the  look 
of  it,"  he  added,  pointing  at  the  Macedonia's  third  boat, 
for  which  I  had  been  steering  and  which  was  now  nearly 
abreast  of  us.  "That's  Horner's  and  Smoke's  work.  I 
told  them  we  wanted  live  men,  not  carcasses.  But  the  joy 
of  shooting  to  hit  is  a  most  compelling  thing,  when  once 
you've  learned  how  to  shoot.  Ever  experienced  it,  Mr. 
Van  Weyden  ? " 

I  shook  my  head  and  regarded  their  work.  It  had 
indeed  been  bloody,  for  they  had  drawn  off  and  joined 
our  other  three  boats  in  the  attack  on  the  remaining 
two  of  the  enemy.  The  deserted  boat  was  in  the  trough 
of  the  sea,  rolling  drunkenly  across  each  comber,  its 
loose  spritsail  out  at  right  angles  to  it  and  fluttering 
and  flapping  in  the  wind.  The  hunter  and  boat-puller 
were  both  lying  awkwardly  in  the  bottom,  but  the  boat- 
steerer  lay  across  the  gunwale,  half  in  and  half  out,  his 
arms  trailing  in  the  water  and  his  head  rolling  from  side 
to  side. 

"  Don't  look,  Miss  Brewster,  please  don't  look,"  I  had 
begged  of  her,  and  I  was  glad  that  she  had  minded  me 
and  been  spared  the  sight. 

"  Head  right  into  the  bunch,  Mr.  Van  Weyden,"  was 
Wolf  Larsen's  command. 

As  we  drew  nearer,  the  firing  ceased,  and  we  saw  that 
the  fight  was  over.  The  remaining  two  boats  had  been 
captured  by  our  five,  and  the  seven  were  grouped  together 
waiting  to  be  picked  up. 


THE  SEA- WOLF  237 

"  Look  at  that ! "  I  cried  involuntarily,  pointing  to  the 
northeast. 

The  blot  of  smoke  which  indicated  the  Macedonia's 
position  had  reappeared. 

"  Yes,  I've  been  watching  it,"  was  Wolf  Larsen's  calm 
reply.  He  measured  the  distance  away  to  the  fog-bank 
and  for  an  instant  paused  to  feel  the  weight  of  the  wind  on 
his  cheek.  "  We'll  make  it,  I  think ;  but  you  can  depend 
upon  it  that  blessed  brother  of  mine  has  twigged  our  little 
game  and  is  just  a-humping  for  us.  Ah,  look  at  that !  " 

The  blot  of  smoke  had  suddenly  grown  larger,  and  it 
was  very  black. 

"  I'll  beat  you  out,  though,  brother  mine,"  he  chuckled. 
"I'll  beat  you  out,  and  I  hope  you  no  worse  than  that  you 
rack  your  old  engines  into  scrap." 

When  we  hove  to,  a  hasty  though  orderly  confusion 
reigned.  The  boats  came  aboard  from  every  side  at  once. 
As  fast  as  the  prisoners  came  over  the  rail  they  were  mar- 
shalled forward  into  the  forecastle  by  our  hunters,  while  our 
sailors  hoisted  in  the  boats,  pell-mell,  dropping  them  any- 
where upon  the  deck  and  not  stopping  to  lash  them.  We 
were  already  under  way,  all  sails  set  and  drawing,  and  the 
sheets  being  slacked  off  for  a  wind  abeam,  as  the  last 
boat  lifted  clear  of  the  water  and  swung  in  the  tackles. 

There  was  need  for  haste.  The  Macedonia,  belching 
the  blackest  of  smoke  from  her  funnel,  was  charging  down 
upon  us  from  out  of  the  northeast.  Neglecting  the  boats 
that  remained  to  her,  she  had  altered  her  course  so  as  to 
anticipate  ours.  She  was  not  running  straight  for  us,  but 
ahead  of  us.  Our  courses  were  converging  like  the  sides 
of  an  angle,  the  vertex  of  which  was  at  the  edge  of  the 
fog-bank.  It  was  there,  or  not  at  all,  that  the  Macedonia 
could  hope  to  catch  us.  The  hope  for  the  Ghost  lay  in 


238  THE  SEA-WOLF 

that  she  should  pass  that  point  before  the  Macedonia 
arrived  at  it. 

Wolf  Larsen  was  steering,  his  eyes  glistening  and 
snapping  as  they  dwelt  upon  and  leaped  from  detail  to 
detail  of  the  chase.  Now  he  studied  the  sea  to  windward 
for  signs  of  the  wind  slackening  or  freshening,  now  the 
Macedonia  ;  and  again,  his  eyes  roved  over  every  sail,  and 
he  gave  commands  to  slack  a  sheet  here  a  trifle,  to  come 
in  on  one  there  a  trifle,  till  he  was  drawing  out  of  the 
'Ghost  the  last  bit  of  speed  she  possessed.  All  feuds  and 
grudges  were  forgotten,  and  I  was  surprised  at  the  alacrity 
with  which  the  men  who  had  so  long  endured  his  brutality 
sprang  to  execute  his  orders.  Strange  to  say,  the  unfor- 
tunate Johnson  came  into  my  mind  as  we  lifted  and  surged 
and  heeled  along,  and  I  was  aware  of  a  regret  that  he  was 
not  alive  and  present;  he  had  so  loved  the  Ghost  and 
delighted  in  her  sailing  powers. 

"  Better  get  your  rifles,  you  fellows,"  Wolf  Larsen  called 
to  our  hunters ;  and  the  five  men  lined  the  lee  rail,  guns  in 
hand,  and  waited. 

The  Macedonia  was  now  but  a  mile  away,  the  black 
smoke  pouring  from  her  funnel  at  a  right  angle,  so  madly 
she  raced,  pounding  through  the  sea  at  a  seventeen-knot 
gait —  "'Sky-hooting  through  the  brine,'"  as  Wolf  Lar- 
sen quoted  while  gazing  at  her.  We  were  not  making 
more  than  nine  knots,  but  the  fog-bank  was  very  near. 

A  puff  of  smoke  broke  from  the  Macedonia's  deck,  we 
heard  a  heavy  report,  and  a  round  hole  took  form  in  the 
stretched  canvas  of  our  mainsail.  They  were  shooting  at 
us  with  one  of  the  small  cannon  which  rumor  had  said 
they  carried  on  board.  Our  men,  clustering  amidships, 
waved  their  hats  and  raised  a  derisive  cheer.  Again  there 
was  a  puff  of  smoke  and  a  loud  report,  this  time  the, can- 


THE  SEA-WOLF  239 

non-ball  striking  not  more  than  twenty  feet  astern  and 
glancing  twice  from  sea  to  sea  to  windward  ere  it  sank. 

But  there  was  no  rifle-firing  for  the  reason  that  all  their 
hunters  were  out  in  the  boats  or  our  prisoners.  When 
the  two  vessels  were  half  a  mile  apart,  a  third  shot  made 
another  hole  in  our  mainsail.  Then  we  entered  the  fog. 
It  was  about  us,  veiling  and  hiding  us  in  its  dense  wet 
gauze. 

The  sudden  transition  was  startling.  The  moment 
before  we  had  been  leaping  through  the  sunshine,  the 
clear  sky  above  us,  the  sea  breaking  and  rolling  wide  to 
the  horizon,  and  a  ship,  vomiting  smoke  and  fire  and  iron 
missiles,  rushing  madly  upon  us.  And  at  once,  as  in  an 
instant's  leap,  the  sun  was  blotted  out,  there  was  no  sky, 
even  our  mastheads  were  lost  to  view,  and  our  horizon 
was  such  as  tear-blinded  eyes  may  see.  The  gray  mist 
drove  by  us  like  a  rain.  Every  woollen  filament  of  our 
garments,  every  hair  of  our  heads  and  faces,  was  jewelled 
with  a  crystal  globule.  The  shrouds  were  wet  with  mois- 
ture ;  it  dripped  from  our  rigging  overhead ;  and  on  the 
under  side  of  our  booms  drops  of  water  took  shape  in 
long  swaying  lines,  which  were  detached  and  flung  to  the 
deck  in  mimic  showers  at  each  surge  of  the  schooner.  I 
was  aware  of  a  pent,  stifled  feeling.  As  the  sounds  of  the 
ship  thrusting  herself  through  the  waves  were  hurled  back 
upon  us  by  the  fog,  so  were  one's  thoughts.  The  mind 
recoiled  from  contemplation  of  a  world  beyond  this  wet 
veil  which  wrapped  us  around.  This  was  the  world,  the 
universe  itself,  its  bounds  so  near  one  felt  impelled  to 
reach  out  both  arms  and  push  them  back.  It  was  impos- 
sible that  the  rest  could  be  beyond  these  walls  of  gray. 
The  rest  was  a  dream,  no  more  than  the  memory  of  a 
dream. 


240  THE  SEA-WOLF 

It  was  weird,  strangely  weird.  I  looked  at  Maud 
Brewster  and  knew  that  she  was  similarly  affected.  Then 
I  looked  at  Wolf  Larsen,  but  there  was  nothing  subjective 
about  his  state  of  consciousness.  His  whole  concern  was 
with  the  immediate,  objective  present.  He  still  held  the 
wheel,  and  I  felt  that  he  was  timing  Time,  reckoning  the 
passage  of  the  minutes  with  each  forward  lunge  and  lee- 
ward roll  of  the  Ghost. 

"  Go  for'ard  and  hard-a-lee  without  any  noise,"  he  said 
to  me  in  a  low  voice.  "  Clew  up  the  topsails  first.  Set 
men  at  all  the  sheets.  Let  there  be  no  rattling  of  blocks, 
no  sound  of  voices.  No  noise,  understand,  no  noise." 

When  all  was  ready,  the  word  "  hard-a-lee  "  was  passed 
forward  to  me  from  man  to  man ;  and  the  Ghost  heeled 
about  on  the  port  tack  with  practically  no  noise  at  all. 
And  what  little  there  was,  —  the  slapping  of  a  few  reef- 
points  and  the  creaking  of  a  sheave  in  a  block  or  two,  — 
was  ghostly  under  the  hollow  echoing  pall  in  which  we 
were  swathed. 

We  had  scarcely  filled  away,  it  seemed,  when  the  fog 
thinned  abruptly  and  we  were  again  in  the  sunshine,  the 
wide-stretching  sea  breaking  before  us  to  the  sky-line. 
But  the  ocean  was  bare.  No  wrathful  Macedonia  broke 
its  surface  nor  blackened  the  sky  with  her  smoke. 

Wolf  Larsen  at  once  squared  away  and  ran  down  along 
the  rim  of  the  fog-bank.  His  trick  was  obvious.  He  had 
entered  the  fog  to  windward  of  the  steamer,  and  while  the 
steamer  had  blindly  driven  on  into  the  fog  in  the  chance 
of  catching  him  he  had  come  about  and  out  of  his  shelter 
and  was  now  running  down  to  reenter  to  leeward.  Suc- 
cessful in  this,  the  old  simile  of  the  needle  in  the  haystack 
would  be  mild  indeed  compared  with  his  brother's  chance 
of  finding  him. 


THE  SEA-WOLF  241 

He  did  not  run  long.  Jibing  the  fore-  and  main-sails  and 
setting  the  topsails  again,  we  headed  back  into  the  bank. 
As  we  entered  I  could  have  sworn  I  saw  a  vague  bulk 
emerging  to  windward.  I  looked  quickly  at  Wolf  Larsen. 
Already  we  were  ourselves  buried  in  the  fog,  but  he 
nodded  his  head.  He,  too,  had  seen  it — the  Macedonia, 
guessing  his  manoeuvre  and  failing  by  a  moment  in  antici- 
pating it.  There  was  no  doubt  that  we  had  escaped 
unseen. 

"  He  can't  keep  this  up,"  Wolf  Larsen  said.  "  He'll 
have  to  go  back  for  the  rest  of  his  boats.  Send  a  man  to 
the  wheel,  Mr.  Van  Weyden,  keep  this  course  for  the 
present,  and  you  might  as  well  set  the  watches,  for  we 
won't  do  any  lingering  to-night." 

"  I'd  give  five  hundred  dollars,  though,"  he  added,  "just 
to  be  aboard  the  Macedonia  for  five  minutes,  listening  to 
my  brother  curse." 

"And  now,  Mr.  Van  Weyden,"  he  said  to  me  when  he 
had  been  relieved  from  the  wheel,  "  we  must  make  these 
newcomers  welcome.  Serve  out  plenty  of  whiskey  to  the 
hunters  and  see  that  a  few  bottles  slip  for'ard.  I'll  wager 
every  man  Jack  of  them  is  over  the  side  to-morrow,  hunt- 
ing for  Wolf  Larsen  as  contentedly  as  ever  they  hunted 
for  Death  Larsen." 

"  But  won't  they  escape  as  Wainwright  did  ?  "  I  asked. 

He  laughed  shrewdly.  "  Not  as  long  as  our  old  hunters 
have  anything  to  say  about  it.  I'm  dividing  amongst  them 
a  dollar  a  skin  for  all  the  skins  shot  by  our  new  hunters. 
At  least  half  of  their  enthusiasm  to-day  was  due  to  that. 
Oh,  no,  there  won't  be  any  escaping  if  they  have  anything 
to  say  about  it.  And  now  you'd  better  get  for'ard  to  your 
hospital  duties.  There  must  be  a  full  ward  waiting  for 
you." 

i 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

WOLF  LARSEN  took  the  distribution  of  the  whiskey  off 
my  hands,  and  the  bottles  began  to  make  their  appearance 
while  I  worked  over  the  fresh  batch  of  wounded  men  in  the 
forecastle.  I  had  seen  whiskey  drunk,  such  as  whiskey 
and  soda  by  the  men  of  the  clubs,  but  never  as  these  men 
drank  it,  from  pannikins  and  mugs,  and  from  the  bottles  — 
great  brimming  drinks,  each  one  of  which  was  in  itself  a 
debauch.  But  they  did  not  stop  at  one  or  two.  They 
drank  and  drank,  and  ever  the  bottles  slipped  forward  and 
they  drank  more. 

Everybody  drank;  the  wounded  drank;  Oofty-Oofty, 
who  helped  me,  drank.  Only  Louis  refrained,  no  more 
than  cautiously  wetting  his  lips  with  the  liquor,  though  he 
joined  in  the  revels  with  an  abandon  equal  to  that  of 
most  of  them.  It  was  a  saturnalia.  In  loud  voices  they 
shouted  over  the  day's  fighting,  wrangled  about  details,  or 
waxed  affectionate  and  made  friends  with  the  men  whom 
they  had  fought.  Prisoners  and  captors  hiccoughed  on 
one  another's  shoulders,  and  swore  mighty  oaths  of  respect 
and  esteem.  They  wept  over  the  miseries  of  the  past 
and  over  the  miseries  yet  to  come  under  the  iron  rule  of 
Wolf  Larsen.  And  all  cursed  him  and  told  terrible  tales 
of  his  brutality. 

It  was  a  strange  and  frightful  spectacle  —  the  small, 
bunk-lined  space,  the  floor  and  walls  leaping  and  lurching, 
the  dim  light,  the  swaying  shadows  lengthening  and  fore- 
shortening monstrously,  the  thick  air  heavy  with  smoke 

242 


THE  SEA-WOLF  243 

and  the  smell  of  bodies  and  iodoform,  and  the  inflamed 
faces  of  the  men  —  half-men,  I  should  call  them.  I  noted 
Oofty-Oofty,  holding  the  end  of  a  bandage  and  looking 
upon  the  scene,  his  velvety  and  luminous  eyes  glistening 
in  the  light  like  a  deer's  eyes,  and  yet  I  knew  the  barbaric 
devil  that  lurked  in  his  breast  and  belied  all  the  softness  and 
tenderness,  almost  womanly,  of  his  face  and  form.  And  I 
noticed  the  boyish  face  of  Harrison,  —  a  good  face  once, 
but  now  a  demon's,  —  convulsed  with  passion  as  he  told 
the  newcomers  of  the  hell-ship  they  were  in  and  shrieked 
curses  upon  the  head  of  Wolf  Larsen. 

Wolf  Larsen  it  was,  always  Wolf  Larsen,  enslaver  and 
tormentor  of  men,  a  male  Circe  and  these  his  swine,  suf- 
fering brutes  that  grovelled  before  him  and  revolted  only 
in  drunkenness  and  in  secrecy.  And  was  I,  too,  one  of  his 
swine  ?  I  thought.  And  Maud  Brewster  ?  No !  I  ground 
my  teeth  in  my  anger  and  determination  till  the  man  I  was 
attending  winced  under  my  hand  and  Oofty-Oofty  looked 
at  me  with  curiosity.  I  felt  endowed  with  a  sudden 
strength.  What  of  my  new-found  love,  I  was  a  giant. 
I  feared  nothing.  I  would  work  my  will  through  it  all,  in 
spite  of  Wolf  Larsen  and  of  my  own  thirty-five  bookish 
years.  All  would  be  well.  I  would  make  it  well.  And 
so,  exalted,  upborne  by  a  sense  of  power,  I  turned  my  back 
on  the  howling  inferno  and  climbed  to  the  deck,  where  the 
fog  drifted  ghostly  through  the  night  and  the  air  was 
sweet  and  pure  and  quiet. 

The  steerage,  where  were  two  wounded  hunters,  was  a 
repetition  of  the  forecastle,  except  that  Wolf  Larsen  was 
not  being  cursed;  and  it  was  with  a  great  relief  that  I 
again  emerged  on  deck  and  went  aft  to  the  cabin.  Supper 
was  ready,  and  Wolf  Larsen  and  Maud  were  waiting  for 
me. 


244  THE  SEA-WOLF 

While  all  his  ship  was  getting  drunk  as  fast  as  it  could, 
he  remained  sober.  Not  a  drop  of  liquor  passed  his  lips. 
He  did  not  dare  it  under  the  circumstances,  for  he  had  only 
Louis  and  me  to  depend  upon,  and  Louis  was  even  now  at 
the  wheel.  We  were  sailing  on  through  the  fog  without  a 
lookout  and  without  lights.  That  Wolf  Larsen  had  turned 
the  liquor  loose  among  his  men  surprised  me,  but  he  evi- 
dently knew  their  psychology  and  the  best  method  of 
cementing  in  cordiality  what  had  begun  in  bloodshed. 

His  victory  over  Death  Larsen  seemed  to  have  had  a 
remarkable  effect  upon  him.  The  previous  evening  he 
had  reasoned  himself  into  the  blues,  and  I  had  been  wait- 
ing momentarily  for  one  of  his  characteristic  outbursts. 
Yet  nothing  had  occurred,  and  he  was  now  in  splendid 
trim.  Possibly  his  success  in  capturing  so  many  hunters 
and  boats  had  counteracted  the  customary  reaction.  At 
any  rate,  the  blues  were  gone,  and  the  blue  devils  had  not 
put  in  an  appearance.  So  I  thought  at  the  time ;  but,  ah 
me,  little  I  knew  him  or  knew  that  even  then,  perhaps,  he 
was  meditating  an  outbreak  more  terrible  than  any  I  had 
seen. 

As  I  say,  he  discovered  himself  in  splendid  trim  when  I 
entered  the  cabin.  He  had  had  no  headaches  for  weeks, 
his  eyes  were  clear  blue  as  the  sky,  his  bronze  was  beauti- 
ful with  perfect  health ;  life  swelled  through  his  veins  in 
full  and  magnificent  flood.  While  waiting  for  me  he  had 
engaged  Maud  in  animated  discussion.  Temptation  was 
the  topic  they  had  hit  upon,  and  from  the  few  words  I 
heard  I  made  out  that  he  was  contending  that  temptation 
was  temptation  only  when  a  man  was  seduced  by  it  and 
fell. 

"  For  look  you,"  he  was  saying,  "  as  I  see  it,  a  man  does 
things  because  of  desire.  He  has  many  desires.  He  may 


THE  SEA-WOLF  245 

desire  to  escape  pain,  or  to  enjoy  pleasure.  But  whatever 
he  does,  he  does  because  he  desires  to  do  it" 

"  But  suppose  he  desires  to  do  two  opposite  things, 
neither  of  which  will  permit  him  to  do  the  other  ?  "  Maud 
interrupted. 

"  The  very  thing  I  was  coming  to,"  he  said. 

"  And  between  these  two  desires  is  just  where  the  soul  of 
the  man  is  manifest,"  she  went  on.  "  If  it  is  a  good  soul,  it 
will  desire  and  do  the  good  action,  and  the  contrary  if  it  is 
a  bad  soul.  It  is  the  soul  that  decides." 

"  Bosh  and  nonsense !  "  he  exclaimed  impatiently.  "  It 
is  the  desire  that  decides.  Here  is  a  man  who  wants  to, 
say,  get  drunk.  Also,  he  doesn't  want  to  get  drunk. 
What  does  he  do?  How  does  he  do  it?  He  is  a  pup- 
pet. He  is  the  creature  of  his  desires,  and  of  the  two 
desires  he  obeys  the  strongest  one,  that  is  all.  His  soul 
hasn't  anything  to  do  with  it.  How  can  he  be  tempted  to 
get  drunk  and  refuse  to  get  drunk  ?  If  the  desire  to 
remain  sober  prevails,  it  is  because  it  is  the  strongest 
desire.  Temptation  plays  no  part,  unless,  —  "he  paused 
while  grasping  the  new  thought  which  had  come  into  his 
mind,  —  "  unless  he  is  tempted  to  remain  sober. 

"  Ha !  ha !  "  he  laughed.  "  What  do  you  think  of  that, 
Mr.  Van  Weyden?" 

"That  both  of  you  are  hair-splitting,"  I  said.  "The 
man's  soul  is  his  desires.  Or,  if  you  will,  the  sum  of  his 
desires  is  his  soul.  Therein  you  are  both  wrong.  You  lay 
the  stress  upon  the  desire  apart  from  the  soul,  Miss 
Brewster  lays  the  stress  on  the  soul  apart  from  the  desire, 
and  in  point  of  fact  soul  and  desire  are  the  same  thing. 

"  However,"  I  continued,  "  Miss  Brewster  is  right  in 
contending  that  temptation  is  temptation  whether  the  man 
yield  or  overcome.  Fire  is  fanned  by  the  wind  until  it 


246  THE  SEA-WOLF 

leaps  up  fiercely.  So  is  desire  like  fire.  It  is  fanned,  as 
by  a  wind,  by  sight  of  the  thing  desired,  or  by  a  new  and 
luring  description  or  comprehension  of  the  thing  desired. 
There  lies  the  temptation.  It  is  the  wind  that  fans  the 
desire  until  it  leaps  up  to  mastery.  That's  temptation.  It 
may  not  fan  sufficiently  to  make  the  desire  overmastering, 
but  in  so  far  as  it  fans  at  all,  that  far  is  it  temptation. 
And,  as  you  say,  it  may  tempt  for  good  as  well  as  for 
evil." 

I  felt  proud  of  myself  as  we  sat  down  to  the  table.  My 
words  had  been  decisive.  At  least  they  had  put  an  end 
to  the  discussion. 

But  Wolf  Larsen  seemed  voluble,  prone  to  speech  as  I 
had  never  seen  him  before.  It  was  as  though  he  were 
bursting  with  pent  energy  which  must  find  an  outlet  some- 
how. Almost  immediately  he  launched  into  a  discussion 
on  love.  As  usual,  his  was  the  sheer  materialistic  side, 
and  Maud's  was  the  idealistic.  For  myself,  beyond  a  word 
or  so  of  suggestion  or  correction  now  and  again,  I  took 
no  part. 

He  was  brilliant,  but  so  was  Maud,  and  for  some  time 
I  lost  the  thread  of  the  conversation  through  studying  her 
face  as  she  talked.  It  was  a  face  that  rarely  displayed 
color,  but  to-night  it  was  flushed  and  vivacious.  Her  wit 
was  playing  keenly,  and  she  was  enjoying  the  tilt  as  much 
as  Wolf  Larsen,  and  he  was  enjoying  it  hugely.  For 
some  reason,  though  I  know  not  why,  in  the  argument,  so 
utterly  had  I  lost  it  in  the  contemplation  of  one  stray 
brown  lock  of  Maud's  hair,  he  quoted  from  Iseult  at 
Tintagel,  where  she  says: 

u  Blessed  am  I  beyond  women  even  herein, 
That  beyond  all  born  women  is  my  sin, 
And  perfect  my  transgression." 


THE  SEA-WOLF  247 

As  he  had  read  pessimism  into  Omar,  so  now  he  read 
triumph,  stinging  triumph  and  exultation,  into  Swinburne's 
lines.  And  he  read  rightly,  and  he  read  well.  He  had 
hardly  ceased  reading  when  Louis  put  his  head  into  the 
companionway  and  whispered  down : 

"  Be  easy,  will  ye  ?  The  fog's  lifted,  an*  'tis  the  port 
light  iv  a  steamer  that's  crossin'  our  bow  this  blessed 
minute." 

Wolf  Larsen  sprang  on  deck,  and  so  swiftly  that  by  the 
time  we  followed  him  he  had  pulled  the  steerage-slide  over 
the  drunken  clamor  and  was  on  his  way  forward  to  close 
the  forecastle-scuttle.  The  fog,  though  it  remained,  had 
lifted  high,  where  it  obscured  the  stars  and  made  the 
night  quite  black.  Directly  ahead  of  us  I  could  see  a 
bright  red  light  and  a  white  light,  and  I  could  hear  the 
pulsing  of  a  steamer's  engines.  Beyond  a  doubt  it  was 
the  Macedonia. 

Wolf  Larsen  had  returned  to  the  poop,  and  we  stood 
in  a  silent  group,  watching  the  lights  rapidly  cross  our  bow. 

"  Lucky  for  me  he  doesn't  carry  a  searchlight,"  Wolf 
Larsen  said. 

"  What  if  I  should  cry  out  loudly  ? "  I  queried  in  a  whisper. 

"  It  would  be  all  up,"  he  answered.  "  But  have  you 
thought  upon  what  would  immediately  happen?" 

Before  I  had  time  to  express  any  desire  to  know,  he 
had  me  by  the  throat  with  his  gorilla  grip,  and  by  a 
faint  quiver  of  the  muscles,  —  a  hint,  as  it  were,  —  he  sug- 
gested to  me  the  twist  that  would  surely  have  broken 
my  neck.  The  next  moment  he  had  released  me  and  we 
were  gazing  at  the  Macedonia's  lights. 

"  What  if  I  should  cry  out  ? "  Maud  asked. 

"  I  like  you  too  well  to  hurt  you,"  he  said  softly  — nay, 
there  was  a  tenderness  and  a  caress  in  his  voice  that  made 


248  THE  SEA-WOLF 

me  wince.  "But  don't  do  it,  just  the  same,  for  I'd 
promptly  break  Mr.  Van  Weyden's  neck." 

"Then  she  has  my  permission  to  cry  out,"  I  said 
defiantly. 

"  I  hardly  think  you'll  care  to  sacrifice  the  Dean  of 
American  Letters  the  Second,"  he  sneered. 

We  spoke  no  more,  though  we  had  become  too  used  to 
one  another  for  the  silence  to  be  awkward ;  and  when  the 
red  light  and  the  white  had  disappeared  we  returned  to 
the  cabin  to  finish  the  interrupted  supper. 

Again  they  fell  to  quoting,  and  Maud  gave  Dowson's 
"  Impenitentia  Ultima."  She  rendered  it  beautifully,  but 
I  watched  not  her,  but  Wolf  Larsen.  I  was  fascinated  by 
the  fascinated  look  he  bent  upon  Maud.  He  was  quite 
out  of  himself,  and  I  noticed  the  unconscious  movement  of 
his  lips  as  he  shaped  word  for  word  as  fast  as  she  uttered 
them.  He  interrupted  her  when  she  gave  the  lines : 

"  And  her  eyes  should  be  my  light  while  the  sun  went  out  behind  me, 
And  the  viols  in  her  voice  be  the  last  sound  in  my  ear." 

"  There  are  viols  in  your  voice,"  he  said  bluntly,  and 
his  eyes  flashed  their  golden  light. 

I  could  have  shouted  with  joy  at  her  control.  She 
finished  the  concluding  stanza  without  faltering  and  then 
slowly  guided  the  conversation  into  less  perilous  channels. 
And  all  the  while  I  sat  in  a  half-daze,  the  drunken  riot  of 
the  steerage  breaking  through  the  bulkhead,  the  man  I 
feared  and  the  woman  I  loved  talking  on  and  on.  The 
table  was  not  cleared.  The  man  who  had  taken  Mugridge's 
place  had  evidently  joined  his  comrades  in  the  forecastle. 

If  ever  Wolf  Larsen  attained  the  summit  of  living,  he 
atttained  it  then.  From  time  to  time  I  forsook  my  own 
thoughts  to  follow  him,  and  I  followed  in  amaze,  mastered 


THE  SEA-WOLF  249 

for  the  moment  by  his  remarkable  intellect,  under  the 
spell  of  his  passion,  for  he  was  preaching  the  passion  of 
revolt.  It  was  inevitable  that  Milton's  Lucifer  should  be 
instanced,  and  the  keenness  with  which  Wolf  Larsen  ana- 
lyzed and  depicted  the  character  was  a  revelation  of  his 
stifled  genius.  It  reminded  me  of  Taine,  yet  I  knew  the  man 
had  never  heard  of  that  brilliant  though  dangerous  thinker. 

"  He  led  a  lost  cause,  and  he  was  not  afraid  of  God's 
thunderbolts,"  Wolf  Larsen  was  saying.  "  Hurled  into 
hell,  he  was  unbeaten.  A  third  of  God's  angels  he  had 
led  with  him,  and  straightway  he  incited  man  to  rebel 
against  God,  and  gained  for  himself  and  hell  the  major 
portion  of  all  the  generations  of  man.  Why  was  he  beaten 
out  of  heaven  ?  Because  he  was  less  brave  than  God  ? 
less  proud?  less  aspiring?  No!  A  thousand  times  no  I 
God  was  more  powerful,  as  he  said,  Whom  thunder  hath 
made  greater.  But  Lucifer  was  a  free  spirit  To  serve 
was  to  suffocate.  He  preferred  suffering  in  freedom  to  all 
the  happiness  of  a  comfortable  servility.  He  did  not  care 
to  serve  God.  He  cared  to  serve  nothing.  He  was  no 
figurehead.  He  stood  on  his  own  legs.  He  was  an  indi- 
vidual." 

"  The  first  anarchist,"  Maud  laughed,  rising  and  prepar- 
ing to  withdraw  to  her  state-room. 

"Then  it  is  good  to  be  an  anarchist!  "  he  cried.  He, 
too,  had  risen,  and  he  stood  facing  her,  where  she  had 
paused  at  the  door  of  her  room,  as  he  went  on : 

«  <  Here  at  least 

We  shall  be  free ;  the  Almighty  hath  not  built 
Here  for  his  envy ;  will  not  drive  us  hence ; 
Here  we  may  reign  secure ;  and  in  my  choice 
To  reign  is  worth  ambition,  though  in  hell : 
Better  to  reign  in  hell  than  serve  in  heaven.' " 


250  THE  SEA-WOLF 

It  was  the  defiant  cry  of  a  mighty  spirit.  The  cabin 
still  rang  with  his  voice,  as  he  stood  there,  swaying,  his 
bronzed  face  shining,  his  head  up  and  dominant,  and  his 
eyes,  golden  and  masculine,  intensely  masculine  and  in- 
sistently soft,  flashing  upon  Maud  at  the  door. 

Again  that  unnamable  and  unmistakable  terror  was  in 
her  eyes,  and  she  said,  almost  in  a  whisper,  "You  are 
Lucifer." 

The  door  closed  and  she  was  gone.  He  stood  staring 
after  her  for  a  minute,  then  returned  to  himself  and  to 
me. 

"I'll  relieve  Louis  at  the  wheel,"  he  said  shortly,  "and 
call  upon  you  to  relieve  at  midnight.  Better  turn  in  now 
and  get  some  sleep." 

He  pulled  on  a  pair  of  mittens,  put  on  his  cap,  and 
ascended  the  companion-stairs,  while  I  followed  his  sug- 
gestion by  going  to  bed.  For  some  unknown  reason, 
prompted  mysteriously,  I  did  not  undress,  but  lay  down 
fully  clothed.  For  a  time  I  listened  to  the  clamor  in  the 
steerage  and  marvelled  upon  the  love  which  had  come  to 
me ;  but  my  sleep  on  the  Ghost  had  become  most  health- 
ful and  natural,  and  soon  the  songs  and  cries  died  away, 
my  eyes  closed,  and  my  consciousness  sank  down  into  the 
half -death  of  slumber. 

I  knew  not  what  had  aroused  me,  but  I  found  myself 
out  of  my  bunk,  on  my  feet,  wide  awake,  my  soul  vibrating 
to  the  warning  of  danger  as  it  might  have  thrilled  to  a 
trumpet  call.  I  threw  open  the  door.  The  cabin  light 
was  burning  low.  I  saw  Maud,  my  Maud,  straining  and 
struggling  and  crushed  in  the  embrace  of  Wolf  Larsen's 
arms.  I  could  see  the  vain  beat  and  flutter  of  her  as  she 
strove,  pressing  her  face  against  his  breast,  to  escape  from 


THE  SEA-WOLF  25 1 

him.  All  this  I  saw  on  the  very  instant  of  seeing  and  as 
I  sprang  forward. 

I  struck  him  with  my  fist,  on  the  face,  as  he  raised  his 
head,  but  it  was  a  puny  blow.  He  roared  in  a  ferocious, 
animal-like  way,  and  gave  me  a  shove  with  his  hand.  It 
was  only  a  shove,  a  flirt  of  the  wrist,  yet  so  tremendous 
was  his  strength  that  I  was  hurled  backward  as  from  a 
catapult.  I  struck  the  door  of  the  state-room  which  had 
formerly  been  Mugridge's,  splintering  and  smashing  the 
panels  with  the  impact  of  my  body.  I  struggled  to  my 
feet,  with  difficulty  dragging  myself  clear  of  the  wrecked 
door,  unaware  of  any  hurt  whatever.  I  was  conscious  only 
of  an  overmastering  rage.  I  think  I,  too,  cried  aloud,  as  I 
drew  the  knife  at  my  hip  and  sprang  forward  a  second  time. 

But  something  had  happened.  They  were  reeling  apart. 
I  was  close  upon  him,  my  knife  uplifted,  but  I  withheld 
the  blow.  I  was  puzzled  by  the  strangeness  of  it.  Maud 
was  leaning  against  the  wall,  one  hand  out  for  support ; 
but  he  was  staggering,  his  left  hand  pressed  against  his 
forehead  and  covering  his  eyes,  and  with  the  right  he  was 
groping  about  him  in  a  dazed  sort  of  way.  It  struck 
against  the  wall,  and  his  body  seemed  to  express  a  muscu- 
lar and  physical  relief  at  the  contact,  as  though  he  had 
found  his  bearings,  his  location  in  space  as  well  as  some- 
thing against  which  to  lean. 

Then  I  saw  red  again.  All  my  wrongs  and  humilia- 
tions flashed  upon  me  with  a  dazzling  brightness,  all  that 
I  had  suffered  and  others  had  suffered  at  his  hands,  all  the 
enormity  of  the  man's  very  existence.  I  sprang  upon  him, 
blindly,  insanely,  and  drove  the  knife  into  his  shoulder.  I 
knew,  then,  that  it  was  no  more  than  a  flesh  wound, — 
I  had  felt  the  steel  grate  on  his  shoulder-blade,  —  and  I 
raised  the  knife  to  strike  at  a  more  vital  part 


252  THE  SEA-WOLF 

But  Maud  had  seen  my  first  blow,  and  she  cried,  "  Don't ! 
Please  don't!" 

I  dropped  my  arm  for  a  moment,  and  a  moment  only. 
Again  the  knife  was  raised,  and  Wolf  Larsen  would  have 
surely  died  had  she  not  stepped  between.  Her  arms  were 
around  me,  her  hair  was  brushing  my  face.  My  pulse 
rushed  up  in  an  unwonted  manner,  yet  my  rage  mounted 
with  it.  She  looked  me  bravely  in  the  eyes. 

"  For  my  sake,"  she  begged. 

"  I  would  kill  him  for  your  sake !  "  I  cried,  trying  to  free 
my  arm  without  hurting  her. 

"  Hush ! "  she  said,  and  laid  her  fingers  lightly  on  my 
lips.  I  could  have  kissed  them,  had  I  dared,  even  then,  in 
my  rage,  the  touch  of  them  was  so  sweet,  so  very  sweet. 
"  Please,  please,"  she  pleaded,  and  she  disarmed  me  by  the 
words,  as  I  was  to  discover  they  would  ever  disarm  me. 

I  stepped  back,  separating  from  her,  and  replaced  the 
knife  in  its  sheath.  I  looked  at  Wolf  Larsen.  He  still 
pressed  his  left  hand  against  his  forehead.  It  covered  his 
eyes.  His  head  was  bowed.  He  seemed  to  have  grown 
limp.  His  body  was  sagging  at  the  hips,  his  great  shoulders 
were  drooping  and  shrinking  forward. 

"  Van  Weyden !  "  he  called  hoarsely,  and  with  a  note  of 
fright  in  his  voice.  "  Oh,  Van  Weyden !  where  are 
you  ? " 

I  looked  at  Maud.  She  did  not  speak,  but  nodded  her 
head. 

"  Here  I  am,"  I  answered,  stepping  to  his  side.  "  What 
is  the  matter  ? " 

"  Help  me  to  a  seat,"  he  said,  in  the  same  hoarse,  fright- 
ened voice. 

"  I  am  a  sick  man,  a  very  sick  man,  Hump,"  he  said,  as 
he  left  my  sustaining  grip  and  sank  into  a  chair. 


THE  SEA-WOLF  253 

His  head  dropped  forward  on  the  table  and  was  buried 
in  his  hands.  From  time  to  time  it  rocked  back  and  for- 
ward as  with  pain.  Once,  when  he  half  raised  it,  I  saw 
the  sweat  standing  in  heavy  drops  on  his  forehead  about 
the  roots  of  his  hair. 

"  I  am  a  sick  man,  a  very  sick  man,"  he  repeated  again, 
and  yet  once  again. 

"What  is  the  matter  ?  "  I  asked,  resting  my  hand  on  his 
shoulder.  "  What  can  I  do  for  you  ? " 

But  he  shook  my  hand  off  with  an  irritated  movement, 
and  for  a  long  time  I  stood  by  his  side  in  silence.  Maud 
was  looking  on,  her  face  awed  and  frightened.  What  had 
happened  to  him  we  could  not  imagine. 

"  Hump,"  he  said  at  last,  "  I  must  get  into  my  bunk. 
Lend  me  a  hand.  I'll  be  all  right  in  a  little  while.  It's 
those  damn  headaches,  I  believe.  I  was  afraid  of  them. 
I  had  a  feeling  —  no,  I  don't  know  what  I'm  talking  about. 
Help  me  into  my  bunk." 

But  when  I  got  him  into  his  bunk  he  again  buried  his 
face  in  his  hands,  covering  his  eyes,  and  as  I  turned  to  go 
I  could  hear  him  murmuring,  "  I  am  a  sick  man,  a  very 
sick  man." 

Maud  looked  at  me  inquiringly  as  I  emerged.  I  shook 
my  head,  saying : 

"  Something  has  happened  to  him.  What,  I  don't 
know.  He  is  helpless,  and  frightened,  I  imagine,  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life.  It  must  have  occurred  before  he 
received  the  knife-thrust,  which  made  only  a  superficial 
wound.  You  must  have  seen  what  happened." 

She  shook  her  head.  "  I  saw  nothing.  It  is  just  as 
mysterious  to  me.  He  suddenly  released  me  and  stag- 
gered away.  But  what  shall  we  do  ?  What  shall  I 
do?" 


254  THE  SEA-WOLF 

"  If  you  will  wait,  please,  until  I  come  back,"  I  answered. 

I  went  on  deck.     Louis  was  at  the  wheel. 

"  You  may  go  for'ard  and  turn  in,"  I  said,  taking  it  from 
him. 

He  was  quick  to  obey,  and  I  found  myself  alone  on  the 
deck  of  the  Ghost.  As  quietly  as  was  possible,  I  clewed 
up  the  topsails,  lowered  the  flying  jib  and  staysail,  backed 
the  jib  over,  and  flattened  the  mainsail.  Then  I  went 
below  to  Maud.  I  placed  my  finger  on  my  lips  for  silence, 
and  entered  Wolf  Larsen's  room.  He  was  in  the  same 
position  in  which  I  had  left  him,  and  his  head  was  rocking 
—  almost  writhing  —  from  side  to  side. 

"  Anything  I  can  do  for  you  ? "  I  asked. 

He  made  no  reply  at  first,  but  on  my  repeating  the 
question  he  answered,  "  No,  no ;  I'm  all  right.  Leave  me 
alone  till  morning." 

But  as  I  turned  to  go  I  noted  that  his  head  had 
resumed  its  rocking  motion.  Maud  was  waiting  patiently 
for  me,  and  I  took  notice,  with  a  thrill  of  joy,  of  the 
queenly  poise  of  her  head  and  her  glorious,  calm  eyes. 
Calm  and  sure  they  were  as  her  spirit  itself. 

"Will  you  trust  yourself  to  me  for  a  journey  of  six 
hundred  miles  or  so  ? "  I  asked. 

"You  mean — ?"  she  asked,  and  I  knew  she  had 
guessed  aright. 

"Yes,  I  mean  just  that,"  I  replied.  '"There  is  nothing 
left  for  us  but  the  open  boat." 

"  For  me,  you  mean,"  she  said.  "  You  are  certainly  as 
safe  here  as  you  have  been." 

"  No,  there  is  nothing  left  for  us  but  the  open  boat,"  I 
iterated  stoutly.  "Will  you  please  dress  as  warmly  as 
you  can,  at  once,  and  make  into  a  bundle  whatever  you 
wish  to  bring  with  you." 


THE  SEA-WOLF  255 

"  And  make  all  haste,"  I  added,  as  she  turned  toward 
her  state-room. 

The  lazarette  was  directly  beneath  the  cabin,  and,  open- 
ing the  trap-door  in  the  floor  and  carrying  a  candle  with 
me,  I  dropped  down  and  began  overhauling  the  ship's 
stores.  I  selected  mainly  from  the  canned  goods,  and  by 
the  time  I  was  ready,  willing  hands  were  extended  from 
above  to  receive  what  I  passed  up. 

We  worked  in  silence.  I  helped  myself  also  to  blank- 
ets, mittens,  oilskins,  caps,  and  such  things,  from  the 
slop-chest.  It  was  no  light  adventure,  this  trusting  our- 
selves in  a  small  boat  to  so  raw  and  stormy  a  sea,  and  it 
was  imperative  that  we  should  guard  ourselves  against  the 
cold  and  wet. 

We  worked  feverishly  at  carrying  our  plunder  on  deck 
and  depositing  it  amidships,  so  feverishly  that  Maud, 
whose  strength  was  hardly  a  positive  quantity,  had  to  give 
over,  exhausted,  and  sit  on  the  steps  at  the  break  of  the 
poop.  This  did  not  serve  to  recover  her,  and  she  lay  on 
her  back,  on  the  hard  deck,  arms  stretched  out  and  whole 
body  relaxed.  It  was  a  trick  I  remembered  of  my  sister, 
and  I  knew  she  would  soon  be  herself  again.  I  knew,  also, 
that  weapons  would  not  come  in  amiss,  and  I  reentered  Wolf 
Larsen's  state-room  to  get  his  rifle  and  shotgun.  I  spoke 
to  him,  but  he  made  no  answer,  though  his  head  was  still 
rocking  from  side  to  side  and  he  was  not  asleep. 

"  Good-bye,  Lucifer,"  I  whispered  to  myself  as  I  softly 
closed  the  door. 

Next  to  obtain  was  a  stock  of  ammunition,  —  an  easy 
matter,  though  I  had  to  enter  the  steerage  companionway 
to  do  it.  Here  the  hunters  stored  the  ammunition  boxes 
they  carried  in  the  boats,  and  here,  but  a  few  feet  from 
their  noisy  revels,  I  took  possession  of  two  boxes. 


256  THE  SEA-WOLF 

Next,  to  lower  a  boat.  Not  so  simple  a  task  for  one 
man.  Having  cast  off  the  lashings,  I  hoisted  first  on  the 
forward  tackle,  then  on  the  aft,  till  the  boat  cleared  the  rail> 
when  I  lowered  away,  one  tackle  and  then  the  other,  for 
a  couple  of  feet,  till  it  hung  snugly,  above  the  water,  against 
the  schooner's  side.  I  made  certain  that  it  contained  the 
proper  equipment  of  oars,  rowlocks,  and  sail.  Water  was 
a  consideration,  and  I  robbed  every  boat  aboard  of  its 
breaker.  As  there  were  nine  boats  all  told,  it  meant  that 
we  should  have  plenty  of  water,  and  ballast  as  well,  though 
there  was  the  chance  that  the  boat  would  be  overloaded, 
what  of  the  generous  supply  of  other  things  I  was  taking. 

While  Maud  was  passing  me  the  provisions  and  I  was 
storing  them  in  the  boat,  a  sailor  came  on  deck  from  the 
forecastle.  He  stood  by  the  weather  rail  for  a  time,  (we 
were  lowering  over  the  lee  rail),  and  then  sauntered  slowly 
amidships,  where  he  again  paused  and  stood  facing  the 
wind,  with  his  back  toward  us.  I  could  hear  my  heart 
beating  as  I  crouched  low  in  the  boat.  Maud  had  sunk 
down  upon  the  deck  and  was,  I  knew,  lying  motionless, 
her  body  in  the  shadow  of  the  bulwark.  But  the  man 
never  turned,  and,  after  stretching  his  arms  above  his  head 
and  yawning  audibly,  he  retraced  his  steps  to  the  fore- 
castle scuttle  and  disappeared. 

A  few  minutes  sufficed  to  finish  the  loading,  and  I  low- 
ered the  boat  into  the  water.  As  I  helped  Maud  over  the 
rail  and  felt  her  form  close  to  mine,  it  was  all  I  could  do 
to  keep  from  crying  out,  "  I  love  you  !  I  love  you  !  "  Truly 
Humphrey  Van  Weyden  was  at  last  in  love,  I  thought,  as 
her  fingers  clung  to  mine  while  I  lowered  her  down  to  the 
boat.  I  held  on  to  the  rail  with  one  hand  and  supported 
her  weight  with  the  other,  and  I  was  proud  at  the  moment 
of  the  feat.  It  was  a  strength  I  had  not  possessed  a  few 


THE  SEA-WOLF 

months  before,  on  the  day  I  said  good-by  to  Charley 
Furuseth  and  started  for  San  Francisco  on  the  ill-fated 
Martinez. 

As  the  boat  ascended  on  a  sea,  her  feet  touched  and  I 
released  her  hands.  I  cast  off  the  tackles  and  leaped  after 
her.  I  had  never  rowed  in  my  life,  but  I  put  out  the  oars 
and  at  the  expense  of  much  effort  got  the  boat  clear  of 
the  Ghost.  Then  I  experimented  with  the  sail.  I  had  seen 
the  boat-steer ers  and  hunters  set  their  spritsails  many 
times,  yet  this  was  my  first  attempt.  What  took  them  pos- 
sibly two  minutes  took  me  twenty,  but  in  the  end  I  suc- 
ceeded in  setting  and  trimming  it,  and  with  the  steering-oar 
in  my  hands  hauled  on  the  wind. 

"  There  lies  Japan,"  I  remarked,  "  straight  before  us." 
"  Humphrey  Van  Weyden,"  she  said,  "  you  are  a  brave 
man." 

"  Nay,"  I  answered,  "  it  is  you  who  are  a  brave  woman." 
We  turned  our  heads,  swayed  by  a  common  impulse  to 
see  the  last  of  the  Ghost.  Her  low  hull  lifted  and  rolled 
to  windward  on  a  sea ;  her  canvas  loomed  darkly  in  the 
night ;  her  lashed  wheel  creaked  as  the  rudder  kicked ; 
then  sight  and  sound  of  her  faded  away  and  we  were  alone 
on  the  dark  sea. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

DAY  broke,  gray  and  chill.  The  boat  was  close-hauled 
on  a  fresh  breeze  and  the  compass  indicated  that  we  were 
just  making  the  course  which  would  bring  us  to  Japan. 
Though  stoutly  mittened,  my  fingers  were  cold,  and  they 
pained  from  the  grip  on  the  steering-oar.  My  feet  were 
stinging  from  the  bite  of  the  frost,  and  I  hoped  fervently 
that  the  sun  would  shine. 

Before  me,  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  lay  Maud.  She, 
at  least,  was  warm,  for  under  her  and  over  her  were  thick 
blankets.  The  top  one  I  had  drawn  over  her  face  to  shel- 
ter it  from  the  night,  so  I  could  see  nothing  but  the  vague 
shape  of  her,  and  her  light-brown  hair,  escaped  from  the 
covering  and  jewelled  with  moisture  from  the  air. 

Long  I  looked  at  her,  dwelling  upon  that  one  visible  bit 
of  her  as  only  a  man  would  who  deemed  it  the  most  pre- 
cious thing  in  the  world.  So  insistent  was  my  gaze  that 
at  last  she  stirred  under  the  blankets,  the  top  fold  was 
thrown  back  and  she  smiled  out  on  me,  her  eyes  yet  heavy 
with  sleep. 

"  Good  morning,  Mr.  Van  Weyden,"  she  said.  "  Have 
you  sighted  land  yet  ?  " 

"  No,"  I  answered,  "  but  we  are  approaching  it  at  a  rate 
of  six  miles  an  hour." 

She  made  a  moue  of  disappointment. 

"  But  that  is  equivalent  to  one  hundred  and  forty-four 
miles  in  twenty-four  hours,"  I  added  reassuringly. 

Her  face  brightened.  "  And  how  far  have  we  to  go  ? " 

258 


THE  SEA-WOLF  259 

"Siberia  lies  off  there,"  I  said,  pointing  to  the  west. 
"  But  to  the  southwest,  some  six  hundred  miles,  is  Japan. 
If  this  wind  should  hold,  we'll  make  it  in  five  days." 

"  And  if  it  storms  ?     The  boat  could  not  live  ? " 

She  had  a  way  of  looking  one  in  the  eyes  and  demand- 
ing the  truth,  and  thus  she  looked  at  me  as  she  asked  the 
question. 

"  It  would  have  to  storm  very  hard,"  I  temporized. 

"  And  if  it  storms  very  hard  ?  " 

I  nodded  my  head.  "  But  we  may  be  picked  up  any 
moment  by  a  sealing  schooner.  They  are  plentifully  dis- 
tributed over  this  part  of  the  ocean." 

"  Why,  you  are  chilled  through !  "  she  cried.  "  Look ! 
You  are  shivering.  Don't  deny  it ;  you  are.  And  here  I 
have  been  lying  warm  as  toast." 

"  I  don't  see  that  it  would  help  matters,  if  you,  too,  sat 
up  and  were  chilled,"  I  laughed. 

"  It  will,  though,  when  I  learn  to  steer,  which  I  certainly 
shall." 

She  sat  up  and  began  making  her  simple  toilet.  She 
shook  down  her  hair,  and  it  fell  about  her  in  a  brown 
cloud,  hiding  her  face  and  shoulders.  Dear,  damp  brown 
hair !  I  wanted  to  kiss  it,  to  ripple  it  through  my  fingers, 
to  bury  my  face  in  it.  I  gazed  entranced,  till  the  boat  ran 
into  the  wind  and  the  flapping  sail  warned  me  I  was  not 
attending  to  my  duties.  Idealist  and  romanticist  that  I 
was  and  always  had  been  in  spite  of  my  analytical  nature, 
yet  I  had  failed  till  now  in  grasping  much  of  the  physical 
characteristics  of  love.  The  love  of  man  and  woman,  I 
had  always  held,  was  a  sublimated  something  related  to 
spirit,  a  spiritual  bond  that  linked  and  drew  their  souls 
together.  The  bonds  of  the  flesh  had  little  part  in  my  cos- 
mos of  love.  But  I  was  learning  the  sweet  lesson  for  myself 


26O  THE  SEA-WOLF 

that  the  soul  transmuted  itself,  expressed  itself,  through 
the  flesh ;  that  the  sight  and  sense  and  touch  of  the  loved 
one's  hair  was  as  much  breath  and  voice  and  essence  of 
the  spirit  as  the  light  that  shone  from  the  eyes  and  the 
thoughts  that  fell  from  the  lips.  After  all,  pure  spirit  was 
unknowable,  a  thing  to  be  sensed  and  divined  only;  nor 
could  it  express  itself  in  terms  of  itself.  Jehovah  was 
anthropomorphic  because  he  could  address  himself  to  the 
Jews  only  in  terms  of  their  understanding ;  so  he  was  con- 
ceived as  in  their  own  image,  as  a  cloud,  a  pillar  of  fire,  a 
tangible,  physical  something  which  the  mind  of  the  Israel- 
ites could  grasp. 

And  so  I  gazed  upon  Maud's  light-brown  hair,  and  loved 
it,  and  learned  more  of  love  than  all  the  poets  and  singers 
had  taught  me  with  all  their  songs  and  sonnets.  She 
flung  it  back  with  a  sudden  adroit  movement,  and  her  face 
emerged,  smiling. 

"  Why  don't  women  wear  their  hair  down  always  ? "  I 
asked.  "  It  is  so  much  more  beautiful." 

"  If  it  didn't  tangle  so  dreadfully,"  she  laughed.  "  There ! 
I've  lost  one  of  my  precious  hair-pins !  " 

I  neglected  the  boat  and  had  the  sail  spilling  the  wind 
again  and  again,  such  was  my  delight  in  following  her 
every  movement  as  she  searched  through  the  blankets  for 
the  pin.  I  was  surprised,  and  joyfully,  that  she  was  so 
much  the  woman,  and  the  display  of  each  trait  and  man- 
nerism that  was  characteristically  feminine  gave  me  keener 
joy.  For  I  had  been  elevating  her  too  highly  in  my  con- 
cepts of  her,  removing  her  too  far  from  the  plane  of  the 
human,  and  too  far  from  me.  I  had  been  making  of  her 
a  creature  goddess-like  and  unapproachable.  So  I  hailed 
with  delight  the  little  traits  that  proclaimed  her  only  woman 
after  all,  such  as  the  toss  of  the  head  which  flung  back  the 


THE  SEA-WOLF  26l 

cloud  of  hair,  and  the  search  for  the  pin.  She  was  woman, 
my  kind,  on  my  plane,  and  the  delightful  intimacy  of  kind, 
of  man  and  woman,  was  possible,  as  well  as  the  reverence 
and  awe  in  which  I  knew  I  should  always  hold  her. 

She  found  the  pin  with  an  adorable  little  cry,  and  I 
turned  my  attention  more  fully  to  my  steering.  I  pro- 
ceeded to  experiment,  lashing  and  wedging  the  steering- 
oar  until  the  boat  held  on  fairly  well  by  the  wind  without 
my  assistance.  Occasionally  it  came  up  too  close,  or  fell 
off  too  freely ;  but  it  always  recovered  itself  and  in  the 
main  behaved  satisfactorily. 

"  And  now  we  shall  have  breakfast,"  I  said.  "  But  first 
you  must  be  more  warmly  clad." 

I  got  out  a  heavy  shirt,  new  from  the  slop-chest  and 
made  from  blanket  goods.  I  knew  the  kind,  so  thick 
and  so  close  of  texture  that  it  could  resist  the  rain  and 
not  be  soaked  through  after  hours  of  wetting.  When  she 
had  slipped  this  on  over  her  head,  I  exchanged  the  boy's 
cap  she  wore  for  a  man's  cap,  large  enough  to  cover  her 
hair,  and,  when  the  flap  was  turned  down,  to  completely 
cover  her  neck  and  ears.  The  effect  was  charming.  Her 
face  was  of  the  sort  that  cannot  but  look  well  under  all 
circumstances.  Nothing  could  destroy  its  exquisite  oval, 
its  well-nigh  classic  lines,  its  delicately  stencilled  brows, 
its  large  brown  eyes,  clear-seeing  and  calm,  gloriously 
calm. 

A  puff,  slightly  stronger  than  usual,  struck  us  just  then. 
The  boat  was  caught  as  it  obliquely  crossed  the  crest  of 
a  wave.  It  went  over  suddenly,  burying  its  gunwale  level 
with  the  sea  and  shipping  a  bucketful  or  so  of  water.  I 
was  opening  a  can  of  tongue  at  the  moment,  and  I  sprang 
to  the  sheet  and  cast  it  off  just  in  time.  The  sail  flapped 
and  fluttered,  and  the  boat  paid  off.  A  few  minutes  of 


262  THE  SEA-WOLF 

regulating  sufficed  to  put  it  on  its  course  again,  when  I 
returned  to  the  preparation  of  breakfast. 

"  It  does  very  well,  it  seems,  though  I  am  not  versed  in 
things  nautical,"  she  said,  nodding  her  head  with  grave 
approval  at  my  steering  contrivance. 

"  But  it  will  serve  only  when  we  are  sailing  by  the 
wind,"  I  explained.  "When  running  more  freely,  with 
the  wind  astern,  abeam,  or  on  the  quarter,  it  will  be 
necessary  for  me  to  steer." 

"  I  must  say  I  don't  understand  your  technicalities," 
she  said,  "  but  I  do  your  conclusion,  and  I  don't  like  it. 
You  cannot  steer  night  and  day  and  forever.  So  I  shall 
expect,  after  breakfast,  to  receive  my  first  lesson.  And 
then  you  shall  lie  down  and  sleep.  We'll  stand  watches 
just  as  they  do  on  ships." 

"  I  don't  see  how  I  am  to  teach  you,"  I  made  protest. 
"  I  am  just  learning  for  myself.  You  little  thought  when 
you  trusted  yourself  to  me  that  I  had  had  no  experience 
whatever  with  small  boats.  This  is  the  first  time  I  have 
ever  been  in  one." 

"  Then  we'll  learn  together,  sir.  And  since  you've  had 
a  night's  start  you  shall  teach  me  what  you  have  learned. 
And  now,  breakfast.  My!  this  air  does  give  one  an 
appetite  !  " 

"  No  coffee,"  I  said  regretfully,  passing  her  buttered 
sea-biscuits  and  a  slice  of  canned  tongue.  "And  there 
will  be  no  tea,  no  soups,  nothing  hot,  till  we  have  made 
land  somewhere,  somehow." 

After  the  simple  breakfast,  capped  with  a  cup  of  cold 
water,  Maud  took  her  lesson  in  steering.  In  teaching  her 
I  learned  quite  a  deal  myself,  though  I  was  applying  the 
knowledge  already  acquired  by  sailing  the  Ghost  and  by 
watching  the  boat-steerers  sail  the  small  boats.  She  was 


THE  SEA-WOLF  263 

an  apt  pupil,  and  soon  learned  to  keep  the  course,  to  luff 
in  the  puffs  and  to  cast  off  the  sheet  in  an  emergency. 

Having  grown  tired,  apparently,  of  the  task,  she  relin- 
quished the  oar  to  me.  I  had  folded  up  the  blankets,  but 
she  now  proceeded  to  spread  them  out  on  the  bottom. 
When  all  was  arranged  snugly,  she  said  : 

"  Now,  sir,  to  bed.  And  you  shall  sleep  until  luncheon. 
Till  dinner-time,"  she  corrected,  remembering  the  ar- 
rangement on  the  Ghost. 

What  could  I  do  ?  She  insisted,  and  said,  "  Please, 
please,"  whereupon  I  turned  the  oar  over  to  her  and 
obeyed.  I  experienced  a  positive  sensuous  delight  as  I 
crawled  into  the  bed  she  had  made  with  her  hands.  The 
calm  and  control  which  were  so  much  a  part  of  her 
seemed  to  have  been  communicated  to  the  blankets,  so 
that  I  was  aware  of  a  soft  dreaminess  and  content,  and  of 
an  oval  face  and  brown  eyes  framed  in  a  fisherman's  cap 
and  tossing  against  a  background  now  of  gray  cloud,  now 
of  gray  sea,  and  then  I  was  aware  that  I  had  been  asleep. 

I  looked  at  my  watch.  It  was  one  o'clock.  I  had 
slept  seven  hours !  And  she  had  been  steering  seven 
hours  !  When  I  took  the  steering-oar  I  had  first  to  unbend 
her  cramped  fingers.  Her  modicum  of  strength  had  been 
exhausted,  and  she  was  unable  even  to  move  from  her  posi- 
tion. I  was  compelled  to  let  go  the  sheet  while  I  helped 
her  to  the  nest  of  blankets  and  chafed  her  hands  and 
arms. 

"  I  am  so  tired,"  she  said,  with  a  quick  intake  of  the 
breath  and  a  sigh,  drooping  her  head  wearily. 

But  she  straightened  it  the  next  moment.  "  Now  don't 
scold,  don't  you  dare  scold,"  she  cried  with  mock  defiance. 

"  I  hope  my  face  does  not  appear  angry,"  I  answered 
seriously ;  "  for  I  assure  you  I  am  not  in  the  least  angry." 


264  THE  SEA-WOLF 

"  N — no,"  she  considered.     "  It  looks  only  reproachful." 

"  Then  it  is  an  honest  face,  for  it  looks  what  I  feel. 
You  were  not  fair  to  yourself,  nor  to  me.  How  can  I  ever 
trust  you  again  ?  " 

She  looked  penitent.  "I'll  be  good,"  she  said,  as  a 
naughty  child  might  say  it.  "  I  promise  —  " 

"  To  obey  as  a  sailor  would  obey  his  captain  ? " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered.  "  It  was  stupid  of  me,  I 
know." 

"  Then  you  must  promise  something  else,"  I  ventured. 

"  Readily." 

"That  you  will  not  say,  '  Please,  please/  too  often;  for 
when  you  do  you  are  sure  to  override  my  authority." 

She  laughed  with  amused  appreciation.  She,  too,  had 
noticed  the  power  of  the  repeated  "  please." 

"  It  is  a  good  word  —  "I  began. 

"  But  I  must  not  overwork  it,"  she  broke  in. 

But  she  laughed  weakly,  and  her  head  drooped  again. 
I  left  the  oar  long  enough  to  tuck  the  blankets  about  her 
feet  and  to  pull  a  single  fold  across  her  face.  Alas !  she 
was  not  strong.  I  looked  with  misgiving  toward  the  south- 
west and  thought  of  the  six  hundred  miles  of  hardship 
before  us  —  ay,  if  it  were  no  worse  than  hardship.  On 
this  sea  a  storm  might  blow  up  at  any  moment  and  destroy 
us.  And  yet  I  was  unafraid.  I  was  without  confidence  in 
the  future,  extremely  doubtful,  and  yet  I  felt  no  underlying 
fear.  It  must  come  right,  it  must  come  right,  I  repeated 
to  myself,  over  and  over  again. 

The  wind  freshened  in  the  afternoon,  raising  a  stiffer 
sea  and  trying  the  boat  and  me  severely.  But  the  supply 
of  food  and  the  nine  breakers  of  water  enabled  the  boat 
to  stand  up  to  the  sea  and  wind,  and  I  held  on  as  long  as  I 
dared.  Then  I  removed  the  sprit,  tightly  hauling  down 


THE  SEA-WOLF  265 

the  peak  of  the  sail,  and  we  raced  along  under  what 
sailors  call  a  leg-of-mutton. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  I  sighted  a  steamer's  smoke  on  the 
horizon  to  leeward,  and  I  knew  it  either  for  a  Russian 
cruiser,  or,  more  likely,  the  Macedonia  still  seeking  the 
Ghost.  The  sun  had  not  shone  all  day,  and  it  had  been 
bitter  cold.  As  night  drew  on,  the  clouds  darkened  and 
the  wind  freshened,  so  that  when  Maud  and  I  ate  supper 
it  was  with  our  mittens  on  and  with  me  still  steering  and 
eating  morsels  between  puffs. 

By  the  time  it  was  dark,  wind  and  sea  had  become  too 
strong  for  the  boat,  and  I  reluctantly  took  in  the  sail  and 
set  about  making  a  drag  or  sea-anchor.  I  had  learned  of 
the  device  from  the  talk  of  the  hunters,  and  it  was  a  simple 
thing  to  manufacture.  Furling  the  sail  and  lashing  it 
securely  about  the  mast,  boom,  sprit,  and  two  pairs  of 
spare  oars,  I  threw  it  overboard.  A  line  connected  it 
with  the  bow,  and  as  it  floated  low  in  the  water,  practically 
unexposed  to  the  wind,  it  drifted  less  rapidly  than  the 
boat.  In  consequence  it  held  the  boat  bow  on  to  the  sea 
and  wind  —  the  safest  position  in  which  to  escape  being 
swamped  when  the  sea  is  breaking  into  whitecaps. 

"And  now?"  Maud  asked  cheerfully,  when  the  task 
was  accomplished  and  I  pulled  on  my  mittens. 

"  And  now  we  are  no  longer  travelling  toward  Japan," 
I  answered.  "  Our  drift  is  to  the  southeast,  or  south- 
southeast,  at  the  rate  of  at  least  two  miles  an  hour." 

"That  will  be  only  twenty-four  miles,"  she  urged,  "if 
the  wind  remains  high  all  night." 

"  Yes,  and  only  one  hundred  and  forty  miles  if  it  con- 
tinues for  three  days  and  nights." 

"  But  it  won't  continue,"  she  said,  with  easy  confidence. 
"  It  will  turn  around  and  blow  fair." 


266  THE  SEA-WOLF 

"  The  sea  is  the  great  faithless  one." 

"  But  the  wind ! "  she  retorted.  "  I  have  heard  you 
grow  eloquent  over  the  brave  trade- wind." 

"I  wish  I  had  thought  to  bring  Wolf  Larsen's  chro- 
nometer and  sextant,"  I  said,  still  gloomily.  "Sailing 
one  direction,  drifting  another  direction,  to  say  nothing 
of  the  set  of  the  current  in  some  third  direction,  makes 
a  resultant  which  dead  reckoning  can  never  calculate. 
Before  long  we  won't  know  where  we  are  by  five  hundred 
miles." 

Then  I  begged  her  pardon  and  promised  I  should  not 
be  disheartened  any  more.  At  her  solicitation  I  let  her 
take  the  watch  till  midnight,  —  it  was  then  nine  o'clock, 
but  I  wrapped  her  in  blankets  and  put  an  oilskin  about 
her  before  I  lay  down.  I  slept  only  cat-naps.  The  boat 
was  leaping  and  pounding  as  it  fell  over  the  crests,  I  could 
hear  the  seas  rushing  past,  and  spray  was  continually 
being  thrown  aboard.  And  still,  it  was  not  a  bad  night,  I 
mused —  nothing  to  the  nights  I  had  been  through  on  the 
Ghost;  nothing,  perhaps,  to  the  nights  we  should  go  through 
in  this  cockle-shell.  Its  planking  was  three-quarters  of  an 
inch  thick.  Between  us  and  the  bottom  of  the  sea  was 
less  than  an  inch  of  wood. 

And  yet,  I  aver  it,  and  I  aver  it  again,  I  was  unafraid. 
The  death  which  Wolf  Larsen  and  even  Thomas  Mugridge 
had  made  me  fear,  I  no  longer  feared.  The  coming  of 
Maud  Brewster  into  my  life  seemed  to  have  transformed 
me.  After  all,  I  thought,  it  is  better  and  finer  to  love  than 
to  be  loved,  if  it  makes  something  in  life  so  worth  while  that 
one  is  not  loath  to  die  for  it.  I  forget  my  own  life  in  the 
love  of  another  life ;  and  yet,  such  is  the  paradox,  I  never 
wanted  so  much  to  live  as  right  now  when  I  place  the  least 
value  upon  my  own  life.  I  never  had  so  much  reason  for 


THE  SEA-WOLF  267 

living,  was  my  concluding  thought ;  and  after  that,  until  I 
dozed,  I  contented  myself  with  trying  to  pierce  the  dark- 
ness to  where  I  knew  Maud  crouched  low  in  the  stern- 
sheets,  watchful  of  the  foaming  sea  and  ready  to  call  me 
on  an  instant's  notice. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

THERE  is  no  need  of  going  into  an  extended  recital  of 
our  suffering  in  the  small  boat  during  the  many  days  we 
were  driven  and  drifted,  here  and  there,  willy-nilly,  across 
the  ocean.  The  high  wind  blew  from  the  northwest  for 
twenty-four  hours,  when  it  fell  calm,  and  in  the  night 
sprang  up  from  the  southwest.  This  was  dead  in  our 
teeth,  but  I  took  in  the  sea-anchor  and  set  sail,  hauling  a 
course  on  the  wind  which  took  us  in  a  south-southeasterly 
direction.  It  was  an  even  choice  between  this  and  the 
west-northwesterly  course  which  the  wind  permitted ;  but 
the  warm  airs  of  the  south  fanned  my  desire  for  a  warmer 
sea  and  swayed  my  decision. 

In  three  hours,  —  it  was  midnight,  I  well  remember,  and 
as  dark  as  I  had  ever  seen  it  on  the  sea,  —  the  wind,  still 
blowing  out  of  the  southwest,  rose  furiously,  and  once 
again  I  was  compelled  to  set  the  sea-anchor. 

Day  broke  and  found  me  wan-eyed  and  the  ocean  lashed 
white,  the  boat  pitching,  almost  on  end,  to  its  drag.  We 
were  in  imminent  danger  of  being  swamped  by  the  white- 
caps.  As  it  was,  spray  and  spume  came  aboard  in  such 
quantities  that  I  bailed  without  cessation.  The  blankets 
were  soaking.  Everything  was  wet  except  Maud,  and  she, 
in  oilskins,  rubber  boots,  and  sou'wester,  was  dry,  all  but 
her  face  and  hands  and  a  stray  wisp  of  hair.  She  relieved 
me  at  the  bailing-hole  from  time  to  time,  and  bravely  she 
threw  out  the  water  and  faced  the  storm.  All  things  are 

268 


THE  SEA-WOLF  269 

relative.  It  was  no  more  than  a  stiff  blow,  but  to  us, 
fighting  for  life  in  our  frail  craft,  it  was  indeed  a  storm. 

Cold  and  cheerless,  the  wind  beating  on  our  faces,  the 
white  seas  roaring  by,  we  struggled  through  the  day. 
Night  came,  but  neither  of  us  slept.  Day  came,  and  still 
the  wind  beat  on  our  faces  and  the  white  seas  roared  past, 
By  the  second  night  Maud  was  falling  asleep  from  ex- 
haustion. I  covered  her  with  oilskins  and  a  tarpaulin. 
She  was  comparatively  dry,  but  she  was  numb  with  the 
cold.  I  feared  greatly  that  she  might  die  in  the  night ; 
but  day  broke,  cold  and  cheerless,  with  the  same  clouded 
sky  and  beating  wind  and  roaring  seas. 

I  had  had  no  sleep  for  forty-eight  hours.  I  was  wet 
and  chilled  to  the  marrow,  till  I  felt  more  dead  than  alive. 
My  body  was  stiff  from  exertion  as  well  as  from  cold,  and 
my  aching  muscles  gave  me  the  severest  torture  whenever 
I  used  them,  and  I  used  them  continually.  And  all  the 
time  we  were  being  driven  off  into  the  northeast,  directly 
away  from  Japan  and  toward  bleak  Bering  Sea. 

And  still  we  lived,  and  the  boat  lived,  and  the  wind  blew 
unabated.  In  fact,  toward  nightfall  of  the  third  day  it 
increased  a  trifle  and  something  more.  The  boat's  bow 
plunged  under  a  crest,  and  we  came  through  quarter-full 
of  water,  I  bailed  like  a  madman.  The  liability  of  ship- 
ping another  such  sea  was  enormously  increased  by  the 
water  that  weighed  the  boat  down  and  robbed  it  of  its 
buoyancy.  And  another  such  sea  meant  the  endc  When 
I  had  the  boat  empty  again  I  was  forced  to  take  away  the 
tarpaulin  which  covered  Maud,  in  order  that  I  might  lash 
it  down  across  the  bow.  It  was  well  I  did,  for  it  covered 
the  boat  fully  a  third  of  the  way  aft,  and  three  times,  in 
the  next  several  hours,  it  flung  off  the  bulk  of  the  down- 
rushing  water  when  the  bow  shoved  under  the  seas. 


2/0  THE  SEA-WOLF 

Maud's  condition  was  pitiable.  She  sat  crouched  in  the 
bottom  of  the  boat,  her  lips  blue,  her  face  gray  and  plainly 
showing  the  pain  she  suffered.  But  ever  her  eyes  looked 
bravely  at  me,  and  ever  her  lips  uttered  brave  words. 

The  worst  of  the  storm  must  have  blown  that  night, 
though  little  I  noticed  it.  I  had  succumbed  and  slept 
where  I  sat  in  the  stern-sheets.  The  morning  of  the  fourth 
day  found  the  wind  diminished  to  a  gentle  whisper,  the 
sea  dying  down  and  the  sun  shining  upon  us.  Oh,  the 
blessed  sun !  How  we  bathed  our  poor  bodies  in  its  deli- 
cious warmth,  reviving  like  bugs  and  crawling  things  after 
a  storm.  We  smiled  again,  said  amusing  things,  and 
waxed  optimistic  over  our  situation.  Yet  it  was,  if  any- 
thing, worse  than  ever.  We  were  farther  from  Japan  than 
the  night  we  left  the  Ghost.  Nor  could  I  more  than 
roughly  guess  our  latitude  and  longitude.  At  a  calcula- 
tion of  a  two-mile  drift  per  hour,  during  the  seventy  and 
odd  hours  of  the  storm,  we  had  been  driven  at  least  one 
hundred  and  fifty  miles  to  the  northeast.  But  was  such 
calculated  drift  correct?  For  all  I  knew,  it  might  have 
been  four  miles  per  hour  instead  of  two.  In  which  case 
we  were  another  hundred  and  fifty  miles  to  the  bad. 

Where  we  were  I  did  not  know,  though  there  was  quite 
a  likelihood  that  we  were  in  the  vicinity  of  the  Ghost. 
There  were  seals  about  us,  and  I  was  prepared  to  sight  a 
sealing  schooner  at  any  time.  We  did  sight  one,  in  the 
afternoon,  when  the  northwest  breeze  had  sprung  up 
freshly  once  more.  But  the  strange  schooner  lost  itself  on 
the  sky-line  and  we  alone  occupied  the  circle  of  the  sea. 

Came  days  of  fog,  when  even  Maud's  spirit  drooped 
and  there  were  no  merry  words  upon  her  lips ;  days  of 
calm,  when  we  floated  on  the  lonely  immensity  of  sea, 
oppressed  by  its  greatness  and  yet  marvelling  at  the  miracle 


THE  SEA- WOLF  271 

of  tiny  life,  for  we  still  lived  and  struggled  to  live ;  days 
of  sleet  and  wind  and  snow-squalls,  when  nothing  could 
keep  us  warm  ;  or  days  of  drizzling  rain,  when  we  filled 
our  water-breakers  from  the  drip  of  the  wet  sail. 

And  ever  I  loved  Maud  with  an  increasing  love.  She 
was  so  many-sided,  so  many-mooded  —  "  protean-mooded  " 
I  called  her.  But  I  called  her  this,  and  other  and  dearer 
things,  in  my  thoughts  only.  Though  the  declaration  of 
my  love  urged  and  trembled  on  my  tongue  a  thousand 
times,  I  knew  that  it  was  no  time  for  such  a  declaration. 
If  for  no  other  reason,  it  was  no  time,  when  one  was  pro- 
tecting and  trying  to  save  a  woman,  to  ask  that  woman  for 
her  love.  Delicate  as  was  the  situation,  not  alone  in  this 
but  in  other  ways,  I  flattered  myself  that  I  was  able  to 
deal  delicately  with  it ;  and  also  I  flattered  myself  that  by 
look  or  sign  I  gave  no  advertisement  of  the  love  I  felt  for 
her.  We  were  like  good  comrades,  and  we  grew  better 
comrades  as  the  days  went  by. 

One  thing  about  her  which  surprised  me  was  her  lack 
of  timidity  and  fear.  The  terrible  sea,  the  frail  boat,  the 
storms,  the  suffering,  the  strangeness  and  isolation  of  the 
situation,  —  all  that  should  have  frightened  a  robust  woman, 
—  seemed  to  make  no  impression  upon  her  who  had  known 
life  only  in  its  most  sheltered  and  consummately  artificial 
aspects,  and  who  was  herself  all  fire  and  dew  and  mist,  sub- 
limated spirit,  all  that  was  soft  and  tender  and  clinging  in 
woman.  And  yet  I  am  wrong.  She  was  timid  and  afraid, 
but  she  possessed  courage.  The  flesh  and  the  qualms  of 
the  flesh  she  was  heir  to,  but  the  flesh  bore  heavily  only  on 
the  flesh.  And  she  was  spirit,  first  and  always  spirit, 
etherealized  essence  of  life,  calm  as  her  calm  eyes,  and 
sure  of  permanence  in  the  changing  order  of  the  universe. 

Came  days  of  storm,  days  and  nights  of  storm,  when  the 


2/2  THE  SEA-WOLF 

ocean  menaced  us  with  its  roaring  whiteness,  and  the  wind 
smote  our  struggling  boat  with  a  Titan's  buffets.  And  ever 
we  were  flung  off,  farther  and  farther,  to  the  northeast.  It 
was  in  such  a  storm,  and  the  worst  that  we  had  experienced, 
that  I  cast  a  weary  glance  to  leeward,  not  in  quest  of  any- 
thing, but  more  from  the  weariness  of  facing  the  elemental 
strife,  and  in  mute  appeal,  almost,  to  the  wrathful  powers 
to  cease  and  let  us  be.  What  I  saw  I  could  not  at  first 
believe.  Days  and  nights  of  sleeplessness  and  anxiety 
had  doubtless  turned  my  head.  I  looked  back  at  Maud, 
to  identify  myself,  as  it  were,  in  time  and  space.  The 
sight  of  her  dear  wet  cheeks,  her  flying  hair,  and  her 
brave  brown  eyes  convinced  me  that  my  vision  was  still 
healthy.  Again  I  turned  my  face  to  leeward,  and  again 
I  saw  the  jutting  promontory,  black  and  high  and  naked, 
the  raging  surf  that  broke  about  its  base  and  beat  its 
front  high  up  with  spouting  fountains,  the  black  and  for- 
bidding coast-line  running  toward  the  southeast  and  fringed 
with  a  tremendous  scarf  of  white. 

"  Maud,"  I  said.     "  Maud." 

She  turned  her  head  and  beheld  the  sight 

"  It  cannot  be  Alaska  !  "  she  cried. 

"  Alas,  no,"  I  answered,  and  asked,  "  Can  you  swim  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  Neither  can  I,"  I  said.  "  So  we  must  get  ashore  with- 
out swimming,  in  some  opening  between  the  rocks  through 
which  we  can  drive  the  boat  and  clamber  out.  But  we  must 
be  quick,  most  quick  —  and  sure." 

I  spoke  with  a  confidence  she  knew  I  did  not  feel,  for 
she  looked  at  me  with  that  unfaltering  gaze  of  hers  and 
said: 

"  I  have  not  thanked  you  yet  for  all  you  have  done  for 
me,  but  —  " 


THE  SEA-WOLF,  273 

She  hesitated,  as  if  in  doubt  how  best  to  word  her 
gratitude. 

"Well?"  I  said,  brutally,  for  I  was  not  quite  pleased 
with  her  thanking  me. 

"  You  might  help  me,"  she  smiled. 

"  To  acknowledge  your  obligations  before  you  die  ?  Not 
at  all.  We  are  not  going  to  die.  We  shall  land  on  that 
island,  and  we  shall  be  snug  and  sheltered  before  the  day 
is  done." 

I  spoke  stoutly,  but  I  did  not  believe  a  word.  Nor  was 
I  prompted  to  lie  through  fear.  I  felt  no  fear,  though  I 
was  sure  of  death  in  that  boiling  surge  amongst  the  rocks 
which  was  rapidly  growing  nearer.  It  was  impossible  to 
hoist  sail  and  claw  off  that  shore.  The  wind  would  in- 
stantly capsize  the  boat;  the  seas  would  swamp  it  the 
moment  it  fell  into  the  trough;  and,  besides,  the  sail, 
lashed  to  the  spare  oars,  dragged  in  the  sea  ahead  of  us. 

As  I  say,  I  was  not  afraid  to  meet  my  own  death,  there, 
a  few  hundred  yards  to  leeward ;  but  I  was  appalled  at  the 
thought  that  Maud  must  die.  My  cursed  imagination  saw 
her  beaten  and  mangled  against  the  rocks,  and  it  was  too 
terrible.  I  strove  to  compel  myself  to  think  we  would 
make  the  landing  safely,  and  so  I  spoke,  not  what  I  be- 
lieved, but  what  I  preferred  to  believe. 

I  recoiled  before  contemplation  of  that  frightful  death, 
and  for  a  moment  I  entertained  the  wild  idea  of  seizing 
Maud  in  my  arms  and  leaping  overboard.  Then  I  resolved 
to  wait,  and  at  the  last  moment,  when  we  entered  on  the 
final  stretch,  to  take  her  in  my  arms  and  proclaim  my 
love,  and,  with  her  in  my  embrace,  to  make  the  desperate 
struggle  and  die. 

Instinctively  we  drew  closer  together  in  the  bottom  of 
the  boat.  I  felt  her  mittened  hand  come  out  to  mine. 


274  THE  SEA-WOLF 

And  thus,  without  speech,  we  waited  the  end.  We  were 
not  far  off  the  line  the  wind  made  with  the  western  edge 
of  the  promontory,  and  I  watched  in  the  hope  that  some 
set  of  the  current  or  send  of  the  sea  would  drift  us  past 
before  we  reached  the  surf. 

"  We  shall  go  clear,"  I  said,  with  a  confidence  which  I 
knew  deceived  neither  of  us. 

"  By  God,  we  will  go  clear ! "  I  cried,  five  minutes 
later. 

The  oath  left  my  lips  in  my  excitement  —  the  first,  I 
do  believe,  in  my  life,  unless  "  trouble  it,"  an  expletive 
of  my  youth,  be  accounted  an  oath. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  I  said. 

"  You  have  convinced  me  of  your  sincerity,"  she  said, 
with  a  faint  smile.  "  I  do  know,  now,  that  we  shall  go 
clear." 

I  had  seen  a  distant  headland  past  the  extreme  edge  of 
the  promontory,  and  as  we  looked  we  could  see  grow  the 
intervening  coast-line  of  what  was  evidently  a  deep  cove. 
At  the  same  time  there  broke  upon  our  ears  a  continuous 
and  mighty  bellowing.  It  partook  of  the  magnitude  and 
volume  of  distant  thunder,  and  it  came  to  us  directly  from 
leeward,  rising  above  the  crash  of  the  surf  and  travelling 
directly  in  the  teeth  of  the  storm.  As  we  passed  the  point 
the  whole  cove  burst  upon  our  view,  a  half-moon  of  white 
sandy  beach  upon  which  broke  a  huge  surf,  and  which  was 
covered  with  myriads  of  seals.  It  was  from  them  that  the 
great  bellowing  went  up. 

"  A  rookery  !  "  I  cried.  "  Now  are  we  indeed  saved. 
There  must  be  men  and  cruisers  to  protect  them  from  the 
seal-hunters.  Possibly  there  is  a  station  ashore." 

But  as  I  studied  the  surf  which  beat  upon  the  beach,  I 
said,  "  Still  bad,  but  not  so  bad.  And  now,  if  the  gods  be 


THE  SEA-WOO  275 

truly  kind,  we  shall  drift  by  that  next  headland  and  come 
upon  a  perfectly  sheltered  beach,  where  we  may  land  with- 
out wetting  our  feet." 

And  the  gods  were  kind.  The  first  and  second  head- 
lands were  directly  in  line  with  the  southwest  wind ;  but 
once  around  the  second,  —  and  we  went  perilously  near, 
—  we  picked  up  the  third  headland,  still  in  line  with  the 
wind  and  with  the  other  two.  But  the  cove  that  inter- 
vened !  It  penetrated  deep  into  the  land,  and  the  tide, 
setting  in,  drifted  us  under  the  shelter  of  the  point.  Here 
the  sea  was  calm,  save  for  a  heavy  but  smooth  ground- 
swell,  and  I  took  in  the  sea-anchor  and  began  to  row. 
From  the  point  the  shore  curved  away,  more  and  more  to 
the  south  and  west,  until,  at  last,  it  disclosed  a  cove  within 
the  cove,  a  little  land-locked  harbor,  the  water  level  as  a 
pond,  broken  only  by  tiny  ripples  where  vagrant  breaths 
and  wisps  of  the  storm  hurtled  down  from  over  the  frown- 
ing wall  of  rock  that  backed  the  beach  a  hundred  feet 
inshore. 

Here  were  no  seals  whatever.  The  boat's  stem  touched 
the  hard  shingle.  I  sprang  out,  extending  my  hand  to 
Maud.  The  next  moment  she  was  beside  me.  As  my 
fingers  released  hers,  she  clutched  for  my  arm  hastily.  At 
the  same  moment  I  swayed,  as  about  to  fall  to  the  sand. 
This  was  the  startling  effect  of  the  cessation  of  motion. 
We  had  been  so  long  upon  the  moving,  rocking  sea  that 
the  stable  land  was  a  shock  to  us.  We  expected  the  beach 
to  lift  up  this  way  and  that,  and  the  rocky  walls  to  swing 
back  and  forth  like  the  sides  of  a  ship;  and  when  we 
braced  ourselves,  automatically,  for  these  various  expected 
movements,  their  non-occurrence  quite  overcame  our  equi- 
librium. 

"I  really  must  sit  down,"  Maud  said,  with  a  nervous 


2/6  THE  SEA-WOLF 

laugh  and  a  dizzy  gesture,  and  forthwith  she  sat  down  on 
the  sand. 

I  attended  to  making  the  boat  secure  and  joined  her. 
Thus  we  landed  on  Endeavor  Island,  as  we  came  to  it,  land- 
sick  from  long  custom  of  the  sea. 


CHAPTER   XXIX 

••'  FOOL  !  "  I  cried  aloud  in  my  vexation. 

I  had  unloaded  the  boat  and  carried  its  contents  high 
up  on  the  beach,  where  I  had  set  about  making  a  camp. 
There  was  driftwood,  though  not  much,  on  the  beach,  and 
the  sight  of  a  coffee  tin  I  had  taken  from  the  Ghosts 
larder  had  given  me  the  idea  of  a  fire. 

"  Blithering  idiot !  "  I  was  continuing. 

But  Maud  said,  "  Tut,  tut,"  in  gentle  reproval,  and  then 
asked  why  I  was  a  blithering  idiot. 

"  No  matches,"  I  groaned.  "  Not  a  match  did  I 'bring. 
And  now  we  shall  have  no  hot  coffee,  soup,  tea,  or  any- 
thing !  " 

"  Wasn't  it  —  er  —  Crusoe  who  rubbed  sticks  together  ? " 
she  drawled. 

"  But  I  have  read  the  personal  narratives  of  a  score  of 
shipwrecked  men  who  tried,  and  tried  in  vain,"  I  answered. 
"  I  remember  Winters,  a  newspaper  fellow  with  an  Alaskan 
and  Siberian  reputation.  Met  him  at  the  Bibelot  once, 
and  he  was  telling  us  how  he  attempted  to  make  a  fire 
with  a  couple  of  sticks.  It  was  most  amusing.  He  told 
it  inimitably,  but  it  was  the  story  of  a  failure.  I  remem- 
ber his  conclusion,  his  black  eyes  flashing  as  he  said, 
*  Gentlemen,  the  South  Sea  Islander  may  do  it,  the  Malay 
may  do  it,  but  take  my  word  it's  beyond  the  white  man.' " 

"  Oh,  well,  we've  managed  so  far  without  it,"  she  said 
cheerfully.  "  And  there's  no  reason  why  we  cannot  stil] 
manage  without  it" 

*77 


2/8  THE   SEA- WOLF 

"  But  think  of  the  coffee  !  "  I  cried.  "  It's  good  coffee, 
too.  I  know.  I  took  it  from  Larsen's  private  stores. 
And  look  at  that  good  wood." 

I  confess,  I  wanted  the  coffee  badly ;  and  I  learned, 
not  long  afterward,  that  the  berry  was  likewise  a  little 
weakness  of  Maud's.  Besides,  we  had  been  so  long  on  a 
cold  diet  that  we  were  numb  inside  as  well  as  out.  Any- 
thing warm  would  have  been  most  gratifying.  But  I 
complained  no  more,  and  set  about  making  a  tent  of  the 
sail  for  Maud. 

I  had  looked  upon  it  as  a  simple  task,  what  of  the  oars, 
mast,  boom,  and  sprit,  to  say  nothing  of  plenty  of  lines. 
But  as  I  was  without  experience,  and  as  every  detail  was 
an  experiment  and  every  successful  detail  an  invention, 
the  day  was  well  gone  before  her  shelter  was  an  accom- 
plished fact.  And  then,  that  night,  it  rained,  and  she  was 
flooded  out  and  driven  back  into  the  boat. 

The  next  morning  I  dug  a  shallow  ditch  around  the 
tent,  and,  an  hour  later,  a  sudden  gust  of  wind,  whipping 
over  the  rocky  wall  behind  us,  picked  up  the  tent  and 
smashed  it  down  on  the  sand  thirty  yards  away. 

Maud  laughed  at  my  crestfallen  expression,  and  I  said, 
"  As  soon  as  the  wind  abates  I  intend  going  in  the  boat  to 
explore  the  island.  There  must  be  a  station  somewhere, 
and  men.  And  ships  must  visit  the  station.  Some  gov- 
ernment must  protect  all  these  seals.  But  I  wish  to  have 
you  comfortable  before  I  start." 

"•I  should  like  to  go  with  you,"  was  all  she  said. 

"It  would  be  better  if  you  remained.  You  have  had 
enough  of  hardship.  It  is  a  miracle  that  you  have  sur- 
vived. And  it  won't  be  comfortable  in  the  boat,  rowing 
and  sailing  in  this  rainy  weather.  What  you  need  is  rest, 
and  I  should  like  you  to  remain  and  get  it" 


THE  SEA- WOLF  279 

Something  suspiciously  akin  to  moistness  dimmed  her 
beautiful  eyes  before  she  dropped  them  and  partly  turned 
away  her  head. 

"  I  should  prefer  going  with  you,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice, 
in  which  there  was  just  a  hint  of  appeal. 

"  I  might  be  able  to  help  you  a —  "  her  voice  broke,  —  "a 
little.  And  if  anything  should  happen  to  you,  think  of 
me  left  here  alone." 

"  Oh,  I  intend  being  very  careful,"  I  answered.  "  And 
I  shall  not  go  so  far  but  what  I  can  get  back  before  night. 
Yes,  all  said  and  done,  I  think  it  vastly  better  for  you  to 
remain,  and  sleep,  and  rest,  and  do  nothing." 

She  turned  and  looked  me  in  the  eyes.  Her  gaze  was 
unfaltering,  but  soft. 

"  Please,  please,"  she  said,  oh,  so  softly. 

I  stiffened  myself  to  refuse,  and  shook  my  head.  Still 
she  waited  and  looked  at  me.  I  tried  to  word  my  refusal, 
but  wavered.  I  saw  the  glad  light  spring  into  her  eyes 
and  knew  that  I  had  lost.  It  was  impossible  to  say  no 
after  that. 

The  wind  died  down  in  the  afternoon,  and  we  were  pre- 
pared to  start  the  following  morning.  There  was  no  way 
of  penetrating  the  island  from  our  cove,  for  the  walls  rose 
perpendicularly  from  the  beach,  and,  on  either  side  of  the 
cove,  rose  from  the  deep  water. 

Morning  broke  dull  and  gray,  but  calm,  and  I  was  awake 
early  and  had  the  boat  in  readiness. 

"  Fool !  Imbecile !  Yahoo  !  "  I  shouted,  when  I  thought 
it  was  meet  to  arouse  Maud ;  but  this  time  I  shouted  in 
merriment  as  I  danced  about  the  beach,  bareheaded,  in 
mock  despair. 

Her  head  appeared  under  the  flap  of  the  sail. 

"  What  now  ? "  she  asked  sleepily,  and,  withal,  curiously. 


280  THE  SEA-WOLF 

"Coffee!"  I  cried.  "What  do  you  say  to  a  cup  of 
coffee  ?  hot  coffee  ?  piping  hot  ? " 

"  My ! "  she  murmured,  "  you  startled  me,  and  you  are 
cruel.  Here  I  have  been  composing  my  soul  to  do  with- 
out it,  and  here  you  are  vexing  me  with  your  vain  sugges- 
tions." 

"Watch  me,"  I  said. 

From  under  clefts  among  the  rocks  I  gathered  a  few 
dry  sticks  and  chips.  These  I  whittled  into  shavings  or 
split  into  kindling.  From  my  note-book  I  tore  out  a  page, 
and  from  the  ammunition  box  took  a  shotgun  shell.  Re- 
moving the  wads  from  the  latter  with  my  knife,  I  emptied 
the  powder  on  a  flat  rock.  Next  I  pried  the  primer,  or 
cap,  from  the  shell,  and  laid  it  on  the  rock  in  the  midst  of 
the  scattered  powder.  All  was  ready.  Maud  still  watched 
from  the  tent.  Holding  the  paper  in  my  left  hand,  I 
smashed  down  upon  the  cap  with  a  rock  held  in  my  right. 
There  was  a  puff  of  white  smoke,  a  burst  of  flame,  and  the 
rough  edge  of  the  paper  was  alight. 

Maud  clapped  her  hands  gleefully.  "  Prometheus ! " 
she  cried. 

But  I  was  too  occupied  to  acknowledge  her  delight. 
The  feeble  flame  must  be  cherished  tenderly  if  it  were  to 
gather  strength  and  live.  I  fed  it,  shaving  by  shaving,  and 
sliver  by  sliver,  till  at  last  it  was  snapping  and  crackling 
as  it  laid  hold  of  the  smaller  chips  and  sticks.  To  be  cast 
away  on  an  island  had  not  entered  into  my  calculations, 
so  we  were  without  a  kettle  or  cooking  utensils  of  any  sort ; 
but  I  made  shift  with  the  tin  used  for  bailing  the  boat,  and 
later,  as  we  consumed  our  supply  of  canned  goods,  we 
accumulated  quite  an  imposing  array  of  cooking  vessels. 

I  boiled  the  water,  but  it  was  Maud  who  made  the 
coffee.  And  how  good  it  was !  My  contribution  was 


THE  SEA-WOLF  28 1 

canned  beef  fried  with  crumbled  sea-biscuit  and  water. 
The  breakfast  was  a  success,  and  we  sat  about  the  fire 
much  longer  than  enterprising  explorers  should  have 
done,  sipping  the  hot  black  coffee  and  talking  over  our 
situation. 

I  was  confident  that  we  should  find  a  station  in  some 
one  of  the  coves,  for  I  knew  that  the  rookeries  of  Bering 
Sea  were  thus  guarded ;  but  Maud  advanced  the  theory,  — 
to  prepare  me  for  disappointment,  I  do  believe,  if  dis- 
appointment were  to  come,  —  that  we  had  discovered  an 
unknown  rookery.  She  was  in  very  good  spirits,  however, 
and  made  quite  merry  in  accepting  our  plight  as  a  grave 
one. 

"  If  you  are  right,"  I  said,  "  then  we  must  prepare  to 
winter  here.  Our  food  will  not  last,  but  there  are  the  seals. 
They  go  away  in  the  fall,  so  I  must  soon  begin  to  lay  in  a 
supply  of  meat.  Then  there  will  be  huts  to  build  and 
driftwood  to  gather.  Also,  we  shall  try  out  seal  fat  for 
lighting  purposes.  Altogether,  we'll  have  our  hands  full 
if  we  find  the  island  uninhabited.  Which  we  shall  not,  I 
know." 

But  she  was  right.  We  sailed  with  a  beam  wind  along 
the  shore,  searching  the  coves  with  our  glasses  and  landing 
occasionally,  without  finding  a  sign  of  human  life.  Yet 
we  learned  that  we  were  not  the  first  who  had  landed  on 
Endeavor  Island.  High  up  on  the  beach  of  the  second 
cove  from  ours,  we  discovered  the  splintered  wreck  of  a 
boat  —  a  sealer's  boat,  for  the  rowlocks  were  bound  in 
sennit,  a  gun-rack  was  on  the  starboard  side  of  the  bow, 
and  in  white  letters  was  faintly  visible  Gazelle  No.  2. 
The  boat  had  lain  there  for  a  long  time,  for  it  was  half 
filled  with  sand,  and  the  splintered  wood  had  that  weather- 
worn appearance  due  to  long  exposure  to  the  elements. 


282  THE  SEA-WOLF 

In  the  sternsheets  I  found  a  rusty  ten-gauge  shotgun  and 
a  sailor's  sheath-knife  broken  short  across  and  so  rusted  as 
to  be  almost  unrecognizable. 

" They  got  away,"  I  said  cheerfully;  but  I  felt  a  sinking 
at  the  heart  and  seemed  to  divine  the  presence  of  bleached 
bones  somewhere  on  that  beach. 

I  did  not  wish  Maud's  spirits  to  be  dampened  by  such  a 
find,  so  I  turned  seaward  again  with  our  boat  and  skirted 
the  northeastern  point  of  the  island.  There  were  no 
beaches  on  the  southern  shore,  and  by  early  afternoon  we 
rounded  the  black  promontory  and  completed  the  circum- 
navigation of  the  island.  I  estimated  its  circumference  at 
twenty-five  miles,  its  width  as  varying  from  two  to  five 
miles;  while  my  most  conservative  calculation  placed  on 
its  beaches  two  hundred  thousand  seals.  The  island  was 
highest  at  its  extreme  southwestern  point,  the  headlands 
and  backbone  diminishing  regularly  until  the  northeastern 
portion  was  only  a  few  feet  above  the  sea.  With  the 
exception  of  our  little  cove,  the  other  beaches  sloped 
gently  back  for  a  distance  of  half  a  mile  or  so,  into  what  I 
might  call  rocky  meadows,  with  here  and  there  patches  of 
moss  and  tundra  grass.  Here  the  seals  hauled  out,  and 
the  old  bulls  guarded  their  harems,  while  the  young  bulls 
hauled  out  by  themselves. 

This  brief  description  is  all  that  Endeavor  Island  merits. 
Damp  and  soggy  where  it  was  not  sharp  and  rocky, 
buffeted  by  storm  winds  and  lashed  by  the  sea,  with  the 
air  continually  a-tremble  with  the  bellowing  of  two  hundred 
thousand  amphibians,  it  was  a  melancholy  and  miserable 
sojourning  place.  Maud,  who  had  prepared  me  for  dis- 
appointment, and  who  had  been  sprightly  and  vivacious  all 
day,  broke  down  as  we  landed  in  our  own  little  cove.  She 
strove  bravely  to  hide  it  from  me,  but  while  I  was  kindling 


THE  SEA-WOLF  283 

another  fire  I  knew  she  was  stifling  her  sobs  in  the  blankets 
under  the  sail-tent. 

It  was  my  turn  to  be  cheerful,  and  I  played  the  part  to 
the  best  of  my  ability,  and  with  such  success  that  I 
brought  the  laughter  back  into  her  dear  eyes  and  song  on 
her  lips ;  for  she  sang  to  me  before  she  went  to  an  early 
bed.  It  was  the  first  time  I  had  heard  her  sing,  and  I  lay 
by  the  fire,  listening  and  transported,  for  she  was  nothing  if 
not  an  artist  in  everything  she  did,  and  her  voice,  though 
not  strong,  was  wonderfully  sweet  and  expressive. 

I  still  slept  in  the  boat,  and  I  lay  awake  long  that  night, 
gazing  up  at  the  first  stars  I  had  seen  in  many  nights  and 
pondering  the  situation.  Responsibility  of  this  sort  was 
a  new  thing  to  me.  Wolf  Larsen  had  been  quite  right. 
I  had  stood  on  my  father's  legs.  My  lawyers  and  agents 
had  taken  care  of  my  money  for  me.  I  had  had  no 
responsibilities  at  all.  Then,  on  the  Ghost  I  had  learned 
to  be  responsible  for  myself.  And  now,  for  the  first  time 
in  my  life,  I  found  myself  responsible  for  some  one  else. 
And  it  was  required  of  me  that  this  should  be  the  gravest 
of  responsibilities,  for  she  was  the  one  woman  in  the 
world  —  the  one  small  woman,  as  I  loved  to  think  of  her. 


CHAPTER   XXX 

No  wonder  we  called  it  Endeavor  Island.  For  two 
weeks  we  toiled  at  building  a  hut.  Maud  insisted  on  help- 
ing, and  I  could  have  wept  over  her  bruised  and  bleeding 
hands.  And  still,  I  was  proud  of  her  because  of  it  There 
was  something  heroic  about  this  gently  bred  woman  endur- 
ing our  terrible  hardship  and  with  her  pittance  of  strength 
bending  to  the  tasks  of  a  peasant  woman.  She  gathered 
many  of  the  stones  which  I.  built  into  the  walls  of  the  hut ; 
also,  she  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  my  entreaties  when  I  begged 
her  to  desist.  She  compromised,  however,  by  taking  upon 
herself  the  lighter  labors  of  cooking  and  gathering  drift- 
wood and  moss  for  our  winter's  supply. 

The  hut's  walls  rose  without  difficulty,  and  everything 
went  smoothly  until  the  problem  of  the  roof  confronted  me. 
Of  what  use  the  four  walls  without  a  roof  ?  And  of  what 
could  a  roof  be  made  ?  There  were  the  spare  oars,  very 
true.  They  would  serve  as  roof -beams ;  but  with  what  was 
I  to  cover  them  ?  Moss  would  never  do.  Tundra  grass 
was  impracticable.  We  needed  the  sail  for  the  boat,  and 
the  tarpaulin  had  begun  to  leak. 

"  Winters  used  walrus  skins  on  his  hut,"  I  said. 

"  There  are  the  seals,"  she  suggested. 

So  next  day  the  hunting  began.  I  did  not  know  how  to 
shoot,  but  I  proceeded  to  learn.  And  when  I  had  expended 
some  thirty  shells  for  three  seals,  I  decided  that  the  ammu- 
nition would  be  exhausted  before  I  acquired  the  necessary 
knowledge.  I  had  used  eight  shells  for  lighting  fires  be- 

284 


THE  SEA-WOLF  285 

fore  I  hit  upon  the  device  of  banking  the  embers  with  wet 
moss,  and  there  remained  not  over  a  hundred  shells  in  the 
box. 

"  We  must  club  the  seals,"  I  announced,  when  convinced 
of  my  poor  marksmanship.  "  I  have  heard  the  sealers  talk 
about  clubbing  them." 

"  They  are  so  pretty,"  she  objected.  "I  cannot  bear  to 
think  of  it  being  done.  It  is  so  directly  brutal,  you  know ; 
so  different  from  shooting  them." 

"  That  roof  must  go  on,"  I  answered  grimly.  "  Winter 
is  almost  here.  It  is  our  lives  against  theirs.  It  is  unfor- 
tunate we  haven't  plenty  of  ammunition,  but  I  think,  any- 
way, that  they  suffer  less  from  being  clubbed  than  from 
being  all  shot  up.  Besides,  I  shall  do  the  clubbing." 

"That's  just  it,"  she  began  eagerly,  and  broke  off  in 
sudden  confusion. 

"  Of  course,"  I  began.     "  If  you  prefer  —  " 

"  But  what  shall  I  be  doing  ? "  she  interrupted,  with  that 
softness  I  knew  full  well  to  be  insistence. 

"Gathering  firewood  and  cooking  dinner,"  I  answered 
lightly. 

She  shook  her  head.  "  It  is  too  dangerous  for  you  to 
attempt  alone." 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  she  waived  my  protest.  "  I  am  only 
a  weak  woman,  but  just  my  small  assistance  may  enable 
you  to  escape  disaster." 

"  But  the  clubbing  ? "  I  suggested. 

"  Of  course,  you  will  do  that.  I  shall  probably  scream. 
I'll  look  away  when  —  " 

"The  danger  is  most  serious,"  I  laughed. 

"  I  shall  use  my  judgment  when  to  look  and  when  not 
to  look,"  she  replied  with  a  grand  air. 

The  upshot  of  the  affair  was  that  she  accompanied  me 


286  THE  SEA-WOLF 

next  morning.  I  rowed  into  the  adjoining  cove  and  up  to 
the  edge  of  the  beach.  There  were  seals  all  about  us  in 
the  water,  and  the  bellowing  thousands  on  the  beach  com- 
pelled us  to  shout  at  each  other  to  make  ourselves  heard. 

"  I  know  men  club  them,"  I  said,  trying  to  reassure  my- 
self and  gazing  doubtfully  at  a  large  bull,  not  thirty  feet 
away,  upreared  on  his  fore-flippers  and  regarding  me 
intently.  "  But  the  question  is,  How  do  they  club  them  ? " 

"  Let  us  gather  tundra  grass  and  thatch  the  roof," 
Maud  said. 

She  was  as  frightened  as  I  at  the  prospect,  and  we  had 
reason  to  be,  gazing  at  close  range  at  the  gleaming  teeth 
and  dog-like  mouths. 

"  I  always  thought  they  were  afraid  of  men,"  I  said. 

"  How  do  I  know  they  are  not  afraid  ?  "  I  queried  a 
moment  later,  after  having  rowed  a  few  more  strokes  along 
the  beach.  "Perhaps,  if  I  were  to  step  boldly  ashore, 
they  would  cut  for  it,  and  I  could  not  catch  up  with 
one." 

And  still  I  hesitated. 

"  I  heard  of  a  man,  once,  who  invaded  the  nesting 
grounds  of  wild  geese,"  Maud  said.  "  They  killed  him." 

"The  geese?" 

"  Yes,  the  geese.  My  brother  told  me  about  it  when  I 
was  a  little  girl." 

"  But  I  know  men  club  them,"  I  persisted. 

"  I  think  the  tundra  grass  will  make  just  as  good  a 
roof,"  she  said. 

Far  from  her  intention,  her  words  were  maddening  me, 
driving  me  on.  I  could  not  play  the  coward  before  her 
eyes. 

"  Here  goes,"  I  said,  backing  water  with  one  oar  and 
running  the  bow  ashore. 


THE  SEA-WOLF  287 

I  stepped  out  and  advanced  valiantly  upon  a  long-maned 
bull  in  the  midst  of  his  wives.  I  was  armed  with  the  regular 
club  with  which  the  boat-pullers  killed  the  wounded  seals 
gaffed  aboard  by  the  hunters.  It  was  only  a  foot  and  a 
half  long,  and  in  my  superb  ignorance  I  never  dreamed 
that  the  club  used  ashore  when  raiding  the  rookeries 
measured  four  to  five  feet.  The  cows  lumbered  out  of  my 
way,  and  the  distance  between  me  and  the  bull  decreased. 
He  raised  himself  on  his  flippers  with  an  angry  movement. 
We  were  a  dozen  feet  apart.  Still  I  advanced  steadily, 
looking  for  him  to  turn  tail  at  any  moment  and  run. 

At  six  feet  the  panicky  thought  rushed  into  my  mind, 
What  if  he  will  not  run  ?  Why,  then  I  shall  club  him, 
came  the  answer.  In  my  fear  I  had  forgotten  that  I  was 
there  to  get  the  bull  instead  of  to  make  him  run.  And 
just  then  he  gave  a  snort  and  a  snarl  and  rushed  at  me. 
His  eyes  were  blazing,  his  mouth  was  wide  open ;  the 
teeth  gleamed  cruelly  white.  Without  shame,  I  con- 
fess that  it  was  I  who  turned  and  footed  it.  He  ran 
awkwardly,  but  he  ran  well.  He  was  but  two  paces 
behind  when  I  tumbled  into  the  boat,  and  as  I  shoved  off 
with  an  oar  his  teeth  crunched  down  upon  the  blade. 
The  stout  wood  was  crushed  like  an  egg-shell.  Maud  and 
I  were  astounded.  A  moment  later  he  had  dived  under 
the  boat,  seized  the  keel  in  his  mouth,  and  was  shaking 
the  boat  violently. 

"  My !  "  said  Maud.     "  Let's  go  back." 

I  shook  my  head.  "I  can  dp  what  other  men  have 
done,  and  I  know  that  other  men  have  clubbed  seals.  But 
I  think  I'll  leave  the  bulls  alone  next  time." 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't,"  she  said. 

"  Now  don't  say,  '  Please,  please,'  "  I  cried,  half  angrily, 
I  do  believe. 


288  THE  SEA-WOLF 

She  made  no  reply,  and  I  knew  my  tone  must  have 
hurt  her. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  I  said,  or  shouted,  rather,  in 
order  to  make  myself  heard  above  the  roar  of  the  rookery. 
"  If  you  say  so,  I'll  turn  and  go  back ;  but  honestly,  I'd 
rather  stay." 

"  Now  don't  say  that  this  is  what  you  get  for  bringing 
a  woman  along,"  she  said.  She  smiled  at  me  whimsically, 
gloriously,  and  I  knew  there  was  no  need  for  forgiveness. 

I  rowed  a  couple  of  hundred  feet  along  the  beach  so  as 
to  recover  my  nerves,  and  then  stepped  ashore  again. 

"  Do  be  cautious,"  she  called  after  me. 

I  nodded  my  head  and  proceeded  to  make  a  flank 
attack  on  the  nearest  harem.  All  went  well  until  I  aimed 
a  blow  at  an  outlying  cow's  head  and  fell  short.  She 
snorted  and  tried  to  scramble  away.  I  ran  in  close  and 
struck  another  blow,  hitting  the  shoulder  instead  of  the 
head. 

"  Watch  out !  "  I  heard  Maud  scream. 

In  my  excitement  I  had  not  been  taking  notice  of  other 
things,  and  I  looked  up  to  see  the  lord  of  the  harem 
charging  down  upon  me.  Again  I  fled  to  the  boat,  hotly 
pursued ;  but  this  time  Maud  made  no  suggestion  of 
turning  back. 

"  It  would  be  better,  I  imagine,  if  you  let  harems  alone 
and  devoted  your  attention  to  lonely  and  inoffensive-looking 
seals,"  was  what  she  said.  "  I  think  I  have  read  something 
about  them.  Dr.  Jordan's  book,  I  believe.  They  are  the 
young  bulls,  not  old  enough  to  have  harems  of  their  own. 
He  called  them  the  holluschickie,  or  something  like  that. 
It  seems  to  me  if  we  find  where  they  haul  out  —  " 

"  It  seems  to  me  that  your  fighting  instinct  is  aroused," 
I  laughed. 


THE  SEA- WOLF  289 

She  flushed  quickly  and  prettily.  "I'll  admit  I  don't 
like  defeat  any  more  than  you  do,  or  any  more  than  I  like 
the  idea  of  killing  such  pretty,  inoffensive  creatures." 

"  Pretty !  "  I  sniffed.  "  I  failed  to  mark  anything  pre- 
eminently pretty  about  those  foamy-mouthed  beasts  that 
raced  me." 

"Your  point  of  view,"  she  laughed.  "You  lacked 
perspective.  Now  if  you  did  not  have  to  get  so  close  to 
the  subject  —  " 

"  The  very  thing !  "  I  cried.  "  What  I  need  is  a  longer 
club.  And  there's  that  broken  oar  ready  to  hand." 

"  It  just  comes  to  me,"  she  said,  "  that  Captain  Larsen 
was  telling  me  how  the  men  raided  the  rookeries.  They 
drive  the  seals,  in  small  herds,  a  short  distance  inland 
before  they  kill  them." 

"  I  don't  care  to  undertake  the  herding  of  one  of  those 
harems,"  I  objected. 

"But  there  are  the  holluschickie,"  she  said.  "The 
holluschickie  haul  out  by  themselves,  and  Dr.  Jordan  says 
that  paths  are  left  between  the  harems,  and  that  as  long 
as  the  holluschickie  keep  strictly  to  the  path  they  are 
unmolested  by  the  masters  of  the  harem." 

"  There's  one  now,"  I  said,  pointing  to  a  young  bull  in 
the  water.  "  Let's  watch  him,  and  follow  him  if  he  hauls 
out." 

He  swam  directly  to  the  beach  and  clambered  out  into  a 
small  opening  between  two  harems,  the  masters  of  which 
made  warning  noises  but  did  not  attack  him.  We  watched 
him  travel  slowly  inward,  threading  about  among  the  harems 
along  what  must  have  been  the  path. 

"  Here  goes,"  I  said,  stepping  out ;   but  I   confess  my 
heart  was  in  my  mouth  as  I  thought  of  going  through  the 
heart  of  that  monstrous  herd, 
u 


2QO  THE   SEA-WOLF 

"It  would  be  wise  to  make  the  boat  fast,"  Maud  said. 

She  had  stepped  out  beside  me,  and  I  regarded  her  with 
wonderment. 

She  nodded  her  head  determinedly.  "Yes,  I'm  going 
with  you,  so  you  may  as  well  secure  the  boat  and  arm  me 
with  a  club." 

"Let's  go  back,"  I  said  dejectedly.  "I  think  tundra 
grass  will  do,  after  all." 

"  You  know  it  won't,"  was  her  reply.     "  Shall  I  lead  ? " 

With  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders,  but  with  the  warmest 
admiration  and  pride  at  heart  for  this  woman,  I  equipped 
her  with  the  broken  oar  and  took  another  for  myself.  It 
was  with  nervous  trepidation  that  we  made  the  first  few 
rods  of  the  journey.  Once  Maud  screamed  in  terror  as  a 
cow  thrust  an  inquisitive  nose  toward  her  foot,  and  several 
times  I  quickened  my  pace  for  the  same  reason.  But, 
beyond  warning  coughs  from  either  side,  there  were  no 
signs  of  hostility.  It  was  a  rookery  which  had  never  been 
raided  by  the  hunters,  and  in  consequence  the  seals  were 
mild-tempered  and  at  the  same  time  unafraid. 

In  the  very  heart  of  the  herd  the  din  was  terrific.  It 
was  almost  dizzying  in  its  effect.  I  paused  and  smiled 
reassuringly  at  Maud,  for  I  had  recovered  my  equanimity 
sooner  than  she.  I  could  see  that  she  was  still  badly 
frightened.  She  came  close  to  me  and  shouted : 

"  I'm  dreadfully  afraid  !  " 

And  I  was  not.  Though  the  novelty  had  not  yet  worn 
off,  the  peaceful  comportment  of  the  seals  had  quieted  my 
alarm.  Maud  was  trembling. 

"  I'm  afraid,  and  I'm  not  afraid,"  she  chattered  with 
shaking  jaws.  "  It's  my  miserable  body,  not  I." 

"  It's  all  right,  it's  all  right,"  I  reassured  her,  my  arm 
passing  instinctively  and  protectingly  around  her. 


THE  SEA-WOLF 

I  shall  never  forget,  in  that  moment,  how  instantly  con- 
scious I  became  of  my  manhood.  The  primitive  deeps  of 
my  nature  stirred.  I  felt  myself  masculine,  the  protector 
of  the  weak,  the  fighting  male.  And,  best  of  all,  I  felt 
myself  the  protector  of  my  loved  one.  She  leaned  against 
me,  so  light  and  lily-frail,  and  as  her  trembling  eased  away 
it  seemed  as  though  I  became  aware  of  prodigious  strength. 
I  felt  myself  a  match  for  the  most  ferocious  bull  in  the 
herd,  and  I  know,  had  such  a  bull  charged  upon  me,  that 
I  should  have  met  it  unflinchingly  and  quite  coolly,  and  I 
know  that  I  should  have  killed  it. 

"  I  am  all  right,  now,"  she  said,  looking  up  at  me  grate- 
fully. "  Let  us  go  on." 

And  that  the  strength  in  me  had  quieted  her  and  given 
her  confidence,  filled  me  with  an  exultant  joy.  The  youth 
of  the  race  seemed  burgeoning  in  me,  over-civilized  man 
that  I  was,  and  I  lived  for  myself  the  old  hunting  days 
and  forest  nights  of  my  remote  and  forgotten  ancestry. 
I  had  much  for  which  to  thank  Wolf  Larsen,  was  my 
thought  as  we  went  along  the  path  between  the  jostling 
harems. 

A  quarter  of  a  mile  inland  we  came  upon  the  hollus- 
chickie  —  sleek  young  bulls,  living  out  the  loneliness  of 
their  bachelorhood  and  gathering  strength  against  the  day 
when  they  would  fight  their  way  into  the  ranks  of  the 
benedicts. 

Everything  now  went  smoothly.  I  seemed  to  know  just 
what  to  do  and  how  to  do  it.  Shouting,  making  threaten- 
ing gestures  with  my  club,  and  even  prodding  the  lazy 
ones,  I  quickly  cut  out  a  score  of  the  young  bachelors 
from  their  companions.  Whenever  one  made  an  attempt 
to  break  back  toward  the  water,  I  headed  it  off.  Maud 
took  an  active  part  in  the  drive,  and  with  her  cries  and 


292  THE  SEA-WOLF 

flourishings  of  the  broken  oar  was  of  considerable  assist- 
ance. I  noticed,  though,  that  whenever  one  looked  tired 
and  lagged,  she  let  it  slip  past.  But  I  noticed,  also,  when- 
ever one,  with  a  show  of  fight,  tried  to  break  past,  that  her 
eyes  glinted  and  showed  bright,  and  she  rapped  it  smartly 
with  her  club. 

"  My,  it's  exciting ! "  she  cried,  pausing  from  sheer 
weakness.  "I  think  I'll  sit  down." 

I  drove  the  little  herd  (a  dozen  strong,  now,  what  of  the 
escapes  she  had  permitted)  a  hundred  yards  farther  on ; 
and  by  the  time  she  joined  me  I  had  finished  the  slaughter 
and  was  beginning  to  skin.  An  hour  later  we  went  proudly 
back  along  the  path  between  the  harems.  And  twice  again 
we  came  down  the  path  burdened  with  skins,  till  I  thought 
we  had  enough  to  roof  the  hut.  I  set  the  sail,  laid  one 
tack  out  of  the  cove,  and  on  the  other  tack  made  our  own 
little  inner  cove. 

» 

"  It's  just  like  home-coming,"  Maud  said,  as  I  ran  the 
boat  ashore. 

I  heard  her  words  with  a  responsive  thrill,  it  was  all  so 
dearly  intimate  and  natural,  and  I  said : 

"  It  seems  as  though  I  have  lived  this  life  always.  The 
world  of  books  and  bookish  folk  is  very  vague,  more  like  a 
dream  memory  than  an  actuality.  I  surely  have  hunted 
and  forayed  and  fought  all  the  days  of  my  life.  And  you, 
too,  seem  a  part  of  it.  You  are  —  "  I  was  on  the  verge 
of  saying,  "my  woman,  my  mate,"  but  glibly  changed  it 
to —  "  standing  the  hardship  well." 

But  her  ear  had  caught  the  flaw.  She  recognized  a 
flight  that  midmost  broke.  She  gave  me  a  quick  look. 

"  Not  that.     You  were  saying  —  ?  " 

"  That  the  American  Mrs.  Meynell  was  living  the  life  of 
a  savage  and  living  it  quite  successfully,"  I  said  easily. 


THE  SEA-WOLF  293 

"  Oh,"  was  all  she  replied;  but  I  could  have  sworn  there 
was  a  note  of  disappointment  in  her  voice. 

But  "  my  woman,  my  mate  "  kept  ringing  in  my  head 
for  the  rest  of  the  day  and  for  many  days.  Yet  never  did 
it  ring  more  loudly  than  that  night,  as  I  watched  her  draw 
back  the  blanket  of  moss  from  the  coals,  blow  up  the  fire, 
and  cook  the  evening  meal.  It  must  have  been  latent  sav- 
agery stirring  in  me,  for  the  old  words,  so  bound  up  with 
the  roots  of  the  race,  to  grip  me  and  thrill  me.  And  grip 
and  thrill  they  did,  till  I  fell  asleep,  murmuring  them  to 
myself  over  and  over  again. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

"  IT  will  smell,"  I  said,  "  but  it  will  keep  in  the  heat  and 
keep  out  the  rain  and  snow." 

We  were  surveying  the  completed  sealskin  roof. 

"  It  is  clumsy,  but  it  will  serve  the  purpose,  and  that  is 
the  main  thing,"  I  went  on,  yearning  for  her  praise. 

And  she  clapped  her  hands  and  declared  that  she  was 
hugely  pleased. 

"  But  it  is  dark  in  here,"  she  said  the  next  moment,  her 
shoulders  shrinking  with  a  little  involuntary  shiver. 

"  You  might  have  suggested  a  window  when  the  walls 
were  going  up,"  I  said.  "  It  was  for  you,  and  you  should 
have  seen  the  need  of  a  window." 

"  But  I  never  do  see  the  obvious,  you  know,"  she  laughed 
back.  "  And  besides,  you  can  knock  a  hole  in  the  wall  at 
any  time." 

"Quite  true;  I  had  not  thought  of  it,"  I  replied,  wag- 
ging my  head  sagely.  "  But  have  you  thought  of  ordering 
the  window-glass?  Just  call  up  the  firm,  —  Red,  4451,  I 
think  it  is,  —  and  tell  them  what  size  and  kind  of  glass  you 
wish." 

"  That  means  —  "  she  began. 

"  No  window." 

It  was  a  dark  and  evil-appearing  thing,  that  hut,  not  fit 
for  aught  better  than  swine  in  a  civilized  land ;  but  for  us, 
who  had  known  the  misery  of  the  open  boat,  it  was  a  snug 
little  habitation.  Following  the  housewarming,  which  was 
accomplished  by  means  of  seal-oil  and  a  wick  made  from 

294 


THE  SEA-WOLF  2Q5 

cotton  calking,  came  the  hunting  for  our  winter's  meat  and 
the  building  of  the  second  hut.  It  was  a  simple  affair, 
now,  to  go  forth  in  the  morning  and  return  by  noon  with  a 
boat-load  of  seals.  And  then,  while  I  worked  at  building 
the  hut,  Maud  tried  out  the  oil  from  the  blubber  and  kept 
a  slow  fire  under  the  frames  of  meat.  I  had  heard  of  jerk- 
ing beef  on  the  plains,  and  our  seal-meat,  cut  in  thin  strips 
and  hung  in  the  smoke,  cured  excellently. 

The  second  hut  was  easier  to  erect,  for  I  built  it  against 
the  first,  and  only  three  walls  were  required.  But  it  was 
work,  hard  work,  all  of  it.  Maud  and  I  worked  from  dawn 
till  dark,  to  the  limit  of  our  strength,  so  that  when  night 
came  we  crawled  stiffly  to  bed  and  slept  the  animal-like 
sleep  of  exhaustion.  And  yet  Maud  declared  that  she  had 
never  felt  better  or  stronger  in  her  life.  I  knew  this  was 
true  of  myself,  but  hers  was  such  a  lily  strength  that  I 
feared  she  would  break  down.  Often  and  often,  her  last 
reserve  force  gone,  I  have  seen  her  stretched  flat  on  her 
back  on  the  sand  in  the  way  she  had  of  resting  and  recu- 
perating. And  then  she  would  be  up  on  her  feet  and 
toiling  hard  as  ever.  Where  she  obtained  this  strength 
was  the  marvel  to  me. 

"  Think  of  the  long  rest  this  winter,"  was  her  reply  to 
my  remonstrances.  "  Why,  we'll  be  clamorous  for  some- 
thing to  do." 

We  held  a  housewarming  in  my  hut  the  night  it 
was  roofed.  It  was  the  end  of  the  third  day  of  a  fierce 
storm  which  had  swung  around  the  compass  from  the 
southeast  to  the  northwest,  and  which  was  then  blowing 
directly  in  upon  us.  The  beaches  of  the  outer  cove  were 
thundering  with  the  surf,  and  even  in  our  land-locked  inner 
cove  a  respectable  sea  was  breaking.  No  high  backbone 
of  island  sheltered  us  from  the  wind,  and  it  whistled  and 


296  THE  SEA-WOLF 

bellowed  about  the  hut  till  at  times  I  feared  for  the  strength 
of  the  walls.  The  skin  roof,  stretched  tightly  as  a  drum- 
head I  had  thought,  sagged  and  bellied  with  every  gust ; 
and  innumerable  interstices  in  the  walls,  not  so  tightly 
stuffed  with  moss  as  Maud  had  supposed,  disclosed  them- 
selves. Yet  the  seal-oil  burned  brightly  and  we  were 
warm  and  comfortable. 

It  was  a  pleasant  evening  indeed,  and  we  voted  that  as 
a  social  function  on  Endeavor  Island  it  had  not  yet  been 
eclipsed.  Our  minds  were  at  ease.  Not  only  had  we 
resigned  ourselves  to  the  bitter  winter,  but  we  were  pre- 
pared for  it.  The  seals  could  depart  on  their  mysterious 
journey  into  the  south  at  any  time,  now,  for  all  we  cared; 
and  the  storms  held  no  terror  for  us.  Not  only  were  we  sure 
of  being  dry  and  warm  and  sheltered  from  the  wind,  but 
we  had  the  softest  and  most  luxurious  mattresses  that 
could  be  made  from  moss.  This  had  been  Maud's  idea, 
and  she  had  herself  jealously  gathered  all  the  moss.  This 
was  to  be  my  first  night  on  the  mattress,  and  I  knew  I 
should  sleep  the  sweeter  because  she  had  made  it. 

As  she  rose  to  go  she  turned  to  me  with  the  whimsical 
way  she  had,  and  said  : 

"  Something  is  going  to  happen  —  is  happening,  for  that 
matter.  I  feel  it.  Something  is  coming  here,  to  us.  It  is 
coming  now.  I  don't  know  what,  but  it  is  coming." 

"  Good  or  bad  ? "  I  asked. 

She  shook  her  head.  "  I  don't  know,  but  it  is  there, 
somewhere." 

She  pointed  in  the  direction  of  the  sea  and  wind. 

"It's  a  lee  shore,"  I  laughed,  "and  I  am  sure  I'd  rather 
be  here  than  arriving,  a  night  like  this." 

"You  are  not  frightened?"  I  asked,  as  I  stepped  to 
open  the  door  for  her. 


THE  SEA-WOLF  297 

Her  eyes  looked  bravely  into  mine. 

"  And  you  feel  well ?  perfectly  well?" 

"  Never  better,"  was  her  answer. 

We  talked  a  little  longer  before  she  went. 

"Good  night,  Maud,"  I  said. 

"  Good  night,  Humphrey,"  she  said. 

This  use  of  our  given  names  had  come  about  quite  as  a 
matter  of  course,  and  was  as  unpremeditated  as  it  was 
natural.  In  that  moment  I  could  have  put  my  arms  around 
her  and  drawn  her  to  me.  I  should  certainly  have  done  so 
out  in  that  world  to  which  we  belonged.  As  it  was,  the 
situation  stopped  there  in  the  only  way  it  could ;  but  I  was 
left  alone  in  my  little  hut,  glowing  warmly  through  and 
through  with  a  pleasant  satisfaction;  and  I  knew  that  a 
tie,  or  a  tacit  something,  existed  between  us  which  had  not 
existed  before. 


CHAPTER    XXXII 

I  AWOKE,  oppressed  by  a  mysterious  sensation.  There 
seemed  something  missing  in  my  environment.  But  the 
mystery  and  oppressiveness  vanished  after  the  first  few 
seconds  of  waking,  when  I  identified  the  missing  some- 
thing as  the  wind.  I  had  fallen  asleep  in  that  state  of 
nerve  tension  with  which  one  meets  the  continuous  shock 
of  sound  or  movement,  and  I  had  awakened,  still  tense, 
bracing  myself  to  meet  the  pressure  of  something  which 
no  longer  bore  upon  me. 

It  was  the  first  night  I  had  spent  under  cover  in  several 
months,  and  I  lay  luxuriously  for  some  minutes  under  my 
blankets,  (for  once  not  wet  with  fog  or  spray),  analyzing, 
first,  the  effect  produced  upon  me  by  the  cessation  of  the 
wind,  and  next,  the  joy  which  was  mine  from  resting  on 
the  mattress  made  by  Maud's  hands.  When  I  had  dressed 
and  opened  the  door,  I  heard  the  waves  still  lapping  on 
the  beach,  garrulously  attesting  the  fury  of  the  night.  It 
was  a  clear  day,  and  the  sun  was  shining.  I  had  slept 
late,  and  I  stepped  outside  with  sudden  energy,  bent  upon 
making  up  lost  time  as  befitted  a  dweller  on  Endeavor 
Island. 

And  when  outside,  I  stopped  short.  I  believed  my 
eyes  without  question,  and  yet  I  was  for  the  moment 
stunned  by  what  they  disclosed  to  me.  There,  on  the 
beach,  not  fifty  feet  away,  bow  on,  dismasted,  was  a  black- 
hulled  vessel.  Masts  and  booms,  tangled  with  shrouds, 
sheets,  and  rent  canvas,  were  rubbing  gently  alongsideo 

208 


THE  SEA-WOLF  299 

I  could  have  rubbed  my  eyes  as  I  looked.  There  was  the 
home-made  galley  we  had  built,  the  familiar  break  of  the 
poop,  the  low  yacht-cabin  scarcely  rising  above  the  rail 
It  was  the  Ghost. 

What  freak  of  fortune  had  brought  it  here  —  here  of 
all  spots  ?  what  chance  of  chances  ?  I  looked  at  the 
bleak,  inaccessible  wall  at  my  back  and  knew  the  pro- 
fundity of  despair.  Escape  was  hopeless,  out  of  the 
question.  I  thought  of  Maud,  asleep  there  in  the  hut 
we  had  reared ;  I  remembered  her  "  Good  night,  Hum- 
phrey "  ;  "  my  woman,  my  mate,"  went  ringing  through  my 
brain,  but  now,  alas,  it  was  a  knell  that  sounded.  Then 
everything  went  black  before  my  eyes. 

Possibly  it  was  the  fraction  of  a  second,  but  I  had  no 
knowledge  of  how  long  an  interval  had  lapsed  before  I 
was  myself  again.  There  lay  the  Ghost,  bow  on  to  the 
beach,  her  splintered  bowsprit  projecting  over  the  sand, 
her  tangled  spars  rubbing  against  her  side  to  the  lift  of 
the  crooning  waves.  Something  must  be  done,  must  be 
done. 

It  came  upon  me  suddenly,  as  strange,  that  nothing 
moved  aboard.  Wearied  from  the  night  of  struggle  and 
wreck,  all  hands  were  yet  asleep,  I  thought.  My  next 
thought  was  that  Maud  and  I  might  yet  escape.  If  we 
could  take  to  the  boat  and  make  around  the  point  before 
any  one  awoke  ?  I  would  call  her  and  start.  My  hand  was 
lifted  at  her  door  to  knock,  when  I  recollected  the  small- 
ness  of  the  island.  We  could  never  hide  ourselves  upon 
it.  There  was  nothing  for  us  but  the  wide  raw  ocean.  I 
thought  of  our  snug  little  huts,  our  supplies  of  meat  and 
oil  and  moss  and  firewood,  and  I  knew  that  we  could 
never  survive  the  wintry  sea  and  the  great  storms  which 
were  to  come. 


300  THE  SEA-WOLF 

So  I  stood,  with  hesitant  knuckle,  without  her  door.  It 
was  impossible,  impossible.  A  wild  thought  of  rushing  in 
and  killing  her  as  she  slept  rose  in  my  mind.  And  then, 
in  a  flash,  the  better  solution  came  to  me.  All  hands  were 
asleep.  Why  not  creep  aboard  the  Ghost,  —  well  I  knew 
the  way  to  Wolf  Larsen's  bunk,  —  and  kill  him  in  his 
sleep  ?  After  that  —  well,  we  would  see.  But  with  him 
dead  there  was  time  and  space  in  which  to  prepare  to  do 
other  things ;  and  besides,  whatever  new  situation  arose, 
it  could  not  possibly  be  worse  than  the  present  one. 

My  knife  was  at  my  hip.  I  returned  to  my  hut  for  the 
shotgun,  made  sure  it  was  loaded,  and  went  down  to  the 
Ghost.  With  some  difficulty,  and  at  the  expense  of  a  wet- 
ting to  the  waist,  I  climbed  aboard.  The  forecastle  scuttle 
was  open.  I  paused  to  listen  for  the  breathing  of  the  men, 
but  there  was  no  breathing.  I  almost  gasped  as  the 
thought  came  to  me :  What  if  the  Ghost  is  deserted  ?  I 
listened  more  closely.  There  was  no  sound.  I  cautiously 
descended  the  ladder.  The  place  had  the  empty  and 
musty  feel  and  smell  usual  to  a  dwelling  no  longer  inhab- 
ited. Everywhere  was  a  thick  litter  of  discarded  and 
ragged  garments,  old  sea-boots,  leaky  oilskins  —  all  the 
worthless  forecastle  dunnage  of  a  long  voyage. 

Abandoned  hastily,  was  my  conclusion,  as  I  ascended  to 
the  deck.  Hope  was  alive  again  in  my  breast,  and  I  looked 
about  me  with  greater  coolness.  I  noted  that  the  boats 
were  missing.  The  steerage  told  the  same  tale  as  the 
forecastle.  The  hunters  had  packed  their  belongings  with 
similar  haste.  The  Ghost  was  deserted.  It  was  Maud's 
and  mine.  I  thought  of  the  ship's  stores  and  the  lazarette 
beneath  the  cabin,  and  the  idea  came  to  me  of  surprising 
Maud  with  something  nice  for  breakfast. 

The  reaction  from  my  fear,  and  the  knowledge  that  the 


THE  SEA-WOLF  30 1 

terrible  deed  I  had  come  to  do  was  no  longer  necessary, 
made  me  boyish  and  eager.  I  went  up  the  steerage  com- 
panionway  two  steps  at  a  time,  with  nothing  distinct  in  my 
mind  except  joy  and  the  hope  that  Maud  would  sleep  on 
until  the  surprise  breakfast  was  quite  ready  for  her.  As  I 
rounded  the  galley,  a  new  satisfaction  was  mine  at  thought 
of  all  the  splendid  cooking  utensils  inside.  I  sprang  up 
the  break  of  the  poop,  and  saw  —  Wolf  Larsen.  What  of 
my  impetus  and  the  stunning  surprise,  I  clattered  three  or 
four  steps  along  the  deck  before  I  could  stop  myself.  He 
was  standing  in  the  companionway,  only  his  head  and 
shoulders  visible,  staring  straight  at  me.  His  arms  were 
resting  on  the  half-open  slide.  He  made  no  movement 
whatever  —  simply  stood  there,  staring  at  me. 

I  began  to  tremble.  The  old  stomach  sickness  clutched 
me.  I  put  one  hand  on  the  edge  of  the  house  to  steady 
myself.  My  lips  seemed  suddenly  dry  and  I  moistened 
them  against  the  need  of  speech.  Nor  did  I  for  an  instant 
take  my  eyes  off  him.  Neither  of  us  spoke.  There  was 
something  ominous  in  his  silence,  his  immobility.  All  my 
old  fear  of  him  returned  and  by  new  fear  was  increased 
an  hundred  fold.  And  still  we  stood,  the  pair  of  us,  staring 
at  each  other. 

I  was  aware  of  the  demand  for  action,  and,  my  old  help- 
lessness strong  upon  me,  I  was  waiting  for  him  to  take  the 
initiative.  Then,  as  the  moments  went  by,  it  came  to  me 
that  the  situation  was  analogous  to  the  one  in  which  I  had 
approached  the  long-maned  bull,  my  intention  of  clubbing 
obscured  by  fear  until  it  became  a  desire  to  make  him  run. 
So  it  was  at  last  impressed  upon  'me  that  I  was  there,  not 
to  have  Wolf  Larsen  take  the  initiative,  but  to  take  it 
myself. 

I  cocked  both  barrels  and  levelled  the  shotgun  at  him. 


3O2  THE  SEA-WOLF 

Had  he  moved,  attempted  to  drop  down  the  companion- 
way,  I  know  I  would  have  shot  him.  But  he  stood  motion- 
less and  staring  as  before.  And  as  I  faced  him,  with 
levelled  gun  shaking  in  my  hands,  I  had  time  to  note  the 
worn  and  haggard  appearance  of  his  face.  It  was  as  if 
some  strong  anxiety  had  wasted  it.  The  cheeks  were 
sunken,  and  there  was  a  wearied,  puckered  expression  on 
the  brow.  And  it  seemed  to  me  that  his  eyes  were  strange, 
not  only  the  expression,  but  the  physical  seeming,  as  though 
the  optic  nerves  and  supporting  muscles  had  suffered  strain 
and  slightly  twisted  the  eyeballs. 

All  this  I  saw,  and  my  brain  now  working  rapidly,  I 
thought  a  thousand  thoughts ;  and  yet  I  could  not  pull  the 
triggers.  I  lowered  the  gun  and  stepped  to  the  corner  of 
the  cabin,  primarily  to  relieve  the  tension  on  my  nerves 
and  to  make  a  new  start,  and  incidentally  to  be  closer. 
Again  I  raised  the  gun.  He  was  almost  at  arm's  length. 
There  was  no  hope  for  him.  I  was  resolved.  There  was 
no  possible  chance  of  missing  him,  no  matter  how  poor  my 
marksmanship.  And  yet  I  wrestled  with  myself  and  could 
not  pull  the  triggers. 

"  Well  ? "  he  demanded  impatiently. 

I  strove  vainly  to  force  my  fingers  down  on  the  triggers, 
and  vainly  I  strove  to  say  something. 

"  Why  don't  you  shoot  ?  "  he  asked. 

I  cleared  my  throat  of  a  huskiness  which  prevented 
speech. 

"Hump,"  he  said  slowly,  "you  can't  do  it.  You  are 
not  exactly  afraid.  You  are  impotent.  Your  conventional 
morality  is  stronger  than  you.  You  are  the  slave  to  the 
opinions  which  have  credence  among  the  people  you  have 
known  and  have  read  about.  Their  code  has  been 
drummed  into  your  head  from  the  time  you  lisped,  and  in 


THE  SEA-WOLF  303 

spit*  of  your  philosophy,  and  of  what  I  have  taught  you, 
it  won't  let  you  kill  an  unarmed,  unresisting  man." 

"  I  know  it,"  I  said  hoarsely. 

"  And  you  know  that  I  would  kill  an  unarmed  man  as 
readily  as  I  would  smoke  a  cigar,"  he  went  on.  "You 
know  me  for  what  I  am,  —  my  worth  in  the  world  by  your 
standard.  You  have  called  me  snake,  tiger,  shark,  mon- 
ster, and  Caliban.  And  yet,  you  little  rag  puppet,  you 
little  echoing  mechanism,  you  are  unable  to  kill  me  as  you 
would  a  snake  or  a  shark,  because  I  have  hands,  feet,  and 
a  body  shaped  somewhat  like  yours.  Bah !  I  had  hoped 
better  things  of  you,  Hump." 

He  stepped  out  of  the  companionway  and  came  up  to 
me. 

"  Put  down  that  gun.  I  want  to  ask  you  some  questions. 
I  haven't  had  a  chance  to  look  around  yet.  What  place 
is  this  ?  How  is  the  Ghost  lying  ?  How  did  you  get  wet  ? 
Where's  Maud? — I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Brewster — - 
or  should  I  say,  *  Mrs.  Van  Weyden '  ?  " 

I  had  backed  away  from  him,  almost  weeping  at  my 
inability  to  shoot  him,  but  not  fool  enough  to  put  down  the 
gun.  I  hoped,  desperately,  that  he  might  commit  some 
hostile  act,  attempt  to  strike  me  or  choke  me ;  for  in  such 
way  only  I  knew  I  could  be  stirred  to  shoot. 

"  This  is  Endeavor  Island,"  I  said. 

"  Never  heard  of  it,"  he  broke  in. 

"At  least,  that's  our  name  for  it,"  I  amended. 

"  Our  ? "  he  queried.     "  Who's  our  ?  " 

"  Miss  Brewster  and  myself.  And  the  Ghost  is  lying, 
as  you  can  see  for  yourself,  bow  on  to  the  beach." 

"  There  are  seals  here,"  he  said.  "  They  woke  me  up 
with  their  barking,  or  I'd  be  sleeping  yet.  I  heard  them 
when  I  drove  in  last  night  They  were  the  first  warning 


304  THE  SEA-WOLF 

that  I  was  on  a  lee  shore.  It's  a  rookery,  the  kind  of  a 
thing  I've  hunted  for  years.  Thanks  to  my  brother  Death, 
I've  lighted  on  a  fortune.  It's  a  mint.  What's  its  bear- 
ings?." 

"  Haven't  the  least  idea,"  I  said.  "  But  you  ought  to 
know  quite  closely.  What  were  your  last  observations  ?  " 

He  smiled  inscrutably,  but  did  not  answer. 

"Well,  where's  all  hands?"  I  asked.  "How  does  it 
come  that  you  are  alone  ? " 

I  was  prepared  for  him  again  to  set  aside  my  question, 
and  was  surprised  at  the  readiness  of  his  reply. 

"  My  brother  got  me  inside  forty-eight  hours,  and 
through  no  fault  of  mine.  Boarded  me  in  the  night  with 
only  the  watch  on  deck.  Hunters  went  back  on  me.  He 
gave  them  a  bigger  lay.  Heard  him  offering  it.  Did  it 
right  before  me.  Of  course  the  crew  gave  me  the  go-by. 
That  was  to  be  expected.  All  hands  went  over  the  side, 
and  there  I  was,  marooned  on  my  own  vessel.  It  was 
Death's  turn,  and  it's  all  in  the  family  anyway." 

"But  how  did  you  lose  the  masts  ?  "  I  asked. 

"Walk  over  and  examine  those  lanyards,"  he  said, 
pointing  to  where  the  mizzen  rigging  should  have  been. 

"They  have  been  cut  with  a  knife !  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  Not  quite,"  he  laughed.  "  It  was  a  neater  job.  Look 
again." 

I  looked.  The  lanyards  had  been  almost  severed,  with 
just  enough  left  to  hold  the  shrouds  till  some  severe  strain 
should  be  put  upon  them. 

"  Cooky  did  that,"  he  laughed  again.  "  I  know,  though  I 
didn't  spot  him  at  it.  Kind  of  evened  up  the  score  a  bit." 

"  Good  for  Mugridge !  "  I  cried. 

"  Yes,  that's  what  I  thought  when  everything  went  over 
the  side.  Only  I  said  it  on  the  other  side  of  my  mouth." 


THE  SEA-WOLF  305 

"  But  what  were  you  doing  while  all  this  was  going  on  ? " 
I  asked. 

"  My  best,  you  may  be  sure,  which  wasn't  much  under 
the  circumstances." 

I  turned  to  reexamine  Thomas  Mugridge's  work. 

"  I  guess  I'll  sit  down  and  take  the  sunshine,"  I  heard 
Wolf  Larsen  saying. 

There  was  a  hint,  just  a  slight  hint,  of  physical  feeble- 
ness in  his  voice,  and  it  was  so  strange  that  I  looked 
quickly  at  him.  His  hand  was  sweeping  nervously  across 
his  face,  as  though  he  were  brushing  away  cobwebs.  I 
was  puzzled.  The  whole  thing  was  so  unlike  the  Wolf 
Larsen  I  had  known. 

"  How  are  your  headaches  ? "  I  asked. 

"  They  still  trouble  me,"  was  his  answer.  "  I  think  I 
have  one  coming  on  now." 

He  slipped  down  from  his  sitting  posture  till  he  lay  on 
the  deck.  Then  he  rolled  over  on  his  side,  his  head  resting 
on  the  biceps  of  the  under  arm,  the  forearm  shielding  his 
eyes  from  the  sun.  I  stood  regarding  him  wonderingly. 

"  Now's  your  chance,  Hump,"  he  said. 

"  I  don't  understand,"  I  lied,  for  I  thoroughly  understood. 

"Oil,  nothing,"  he  added  softly,  as  if  he  were  drowsing; 
"  only  you've  got  me  where  you  want  me." 

"No,  I  haven't,"  I  retorted;  "for  I  want  you  a  few 
thousand  miles  away  from  here." 

He  chuckled,  and  thereafter  spoke  no  more.  He  did 
not  stir  as  I  passed  by  him  and  went  down  into  the  cabin. 
I  lifted  the  trap  in  the  floor,  but  for  some  moments  gazed 
dubiously  into  the  darkness  of  the  lazarette  beneath.  I 
hesitated  to  descend.  What  if  his  lying  down  were  a  ruse  ? 
Pretty,  indeed,  to  be  caught  there  like  a  rat.  I  crept  softly 
up  the  companionway  and  peeped  at  him.  He  was  lying 


306  THE   SEA-WOLF 

as  I  had  left  him.  Again  I  went  below;  but  before  I 
dropped  into  the  lazarette  I  took  the  precaution  of  casting 
down  the  door  in  advance.  At  least  there  would  be  no  lid 
to  the  trap.  But  it  was  all  needless.  I  regained  the  cabin 
with  a  store  of  jams,  sea-biscuits,  canned  meats,  and  such 
things,  —  all  I  could  carry,  —  and  replaced  the  trap-door. 

A  peep  at  Wolf  Larsen  showed  me  that  he  had  not 
moved.  A  bright  thought  struck  me.  I  stole  into  his 
state-room  and  possessed  myself  of  his  revolvers.  There 
were  no  other  weapons,  though  I  thoroughly  ransacked 
the  three  remaining  state-rooms.  To  make  sure,  I  returned 
and  went  through  the  steerage  and  forecastle,  and  in  the 
galley  gathered  up  all  the  sharp  meat  and  vegetable  knives. 
Then  I  bethought  me  of  the  great  yachtsman's  knife  he 
always  carried,  and  I  came  to  him  and  spoke  to  him,  first 
softly,  then  loudly.  He  did  not  move.  I  bent  over  and 
took  it  from  his  pocket.  I  breathed  more  freely.  He  had 
no  arms  with  which  to  attack  me  from  a  distance ;  while  I, 
armed,  could  always  forestall  him  should  he  attempt  to 
grapple  me  with  his  terrible  gorilla  arms. 

Filling  a  coffee-pot  and  frying-pan  with  part  of  my 
plunder,  and  taking  some  chinaware  from  the  cabin  pantry, 
I  left  Wolf  Larsen  lying  in  the  sun  and  went  ashore. 

Maud  was  still  asleep.  I  blew  up  the  embers,  (we  had 
not  yet  arranged  a  winter  kitchen),  and  quite  feverishly 
cooked  the  breakfast.  Toward  the  end,  I  heard  her  mov- 
ing about  within  the  hut,  making  her  toilet.  Just  as  all 
was  ready  and  the  coffee  poured,  the  door  opened  and 
she  came  forth. 

"It's  not  fair  of  you,"  was  her  greeting.  "You  are 
usurping  one  of  my  prerogatives.  You  know  you  agreed 
that  the  cooking  should  be  mine,  and  —  " 

"  But  just  this  once,"  I  pleaded. 


THE  SEA-WOLF  307 

"If  you  promise  not  to  do  it  again,"  she  smiled. 
"  Unless,  of  course,  you  have  grown  tired  of  my  poor 
efforts." 

To  my  delight  she  never  once  looked  toward  the  beach, 
and  I  maintained  the  banter  with  such  success  that  all 
unconsciously  she  sipped  coffee  from  the  china  cup,  ate 
fried  evaporated  potatoes,  and  spread  marmalade  on  her 
biscuit.  But  it  could  not  last.  I  saw  the  surprise  that 
came  over  her.  She  had  discovered  the  china  plate  from 
which  she  was  eating.  She  looked  over  the  breakfast, 
noting  detail  after  detail.  Then  she  looked  at  me,  and 
her  face  turned  slowly  toward  the  beach. 

"  Humphrey  !  "  she  said. 

The  old  unnamable  terror  mounted  into  her  eyes. 

«  is  —  he  —  ? "  she  quavered. 

I  nodded  my  head. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

WE  waited  all  day  for  Wolf  Larsen  to  come  ashore.  It 
was  an  intolerable  period  of  anxiety.  Each  moment  one 
or  the  other  of  us  cast  expectant  glances  toward  the  Ghost. 
But  he  did  not  come.  He  did  not  even  appear  on  deck. 

"  Perhaps  it  is  his  headache,"  I  said.  "  I  left  him  lying 
on  the  poop.  He  may  lie  there  all  night.  I  think  I'll  go 
and  see." 

Maud  looked  entreaty  at  me. 

"It  is  all  right,"  I  assured  her.  "I  shall  take  the 
revolvers.  You  know  I  collected  every  weapon  on  board." 

"  But  there  are  his  arms,  his  hands,  his  terrible,  terrible 
hands!"  she  objected.  And  then  she  cried,  "  Oh,  Hum- 
phrey, I  am  afraid  of  him !  Don't  go  —  please  don't  go !  " 

She  rested  her  hand  appealingly  on  mine,  and  sent  my 
pulse  fluttering.  My  heart  was  surely  in  my  eyes  for  a 
moment.  The  dear  and  lovely  woman !  And  she  was  so 
much  the  woman,  clinging  and  appealing,  sunshine  and 
dew  to  my  manhood,  rooting  it  deeper  and  sending  through 
it  the  sap  of  a  new  strength.  I  was  for  putting  my  arm 
around  her,  as  when  in  the  midst  of  the  seal  herd ;  but  I 
considered,  and  refrained. 

"  I  shall  not  take  any  risks,"  I  said.  "  I'll  merely  peep 
over  the  bow  and  see." 

She  pressed  my  hand  earnestly  and  let  me  go.  But  the 
space  on  deck  where  I  had  left  him  lying  was  vacant.  He 
had  evidently  gone  below.  That  night  we  stood  alternate 
watches,  one  of  us  sleeping  at  a  time;  for  there  was 

308 


THE  SEA-WOLF  309 

no  telling  what  Wolf  Larsen  might  do.  He  was  certainly 
capable  of  anything. 

The  next  day  we  waited,  and  the  next,  and  still  he  made 
no  sign. 

"  These  headaches  of  his,  these  attacks,"  Maud  said,  on 
the  afternoon  of  the  fourth  day ;  "  perhaps  he  is  ill,  very 
ill.  He  may  be  dead." 

"  Or  dying,"  was  her  afterthought,  when  she  had  waited 
some  time  for  me  to  speak. 

"  Better  so,"  I  answered. 

"  But  think,  Humphrey,  a  fellow-creature  in  his  last 
lonely  hour." 

"  Perhaps,"  I  suggested. 

"  Yes,  even  perhaps,"  she  acknowledged.  "  But  we  do 
not  know.  It  would  be  terrible  if  he  were.  I  could 
never  forgive  myself.  We  must  do  something." 

"  Perhaps,"  I  suggested  again. 

I  waited,  smiling  inwardly  at  the  woman  of  her  which 
compelled  a  solicitude  for  Wolf  Larsen,  of  all  creatures. 
Where  was  her  solicitude  for  me,  I  thought,  —  for  me 
whom  she  had  been  afraid  to  have  merely  peep  aboard  ? 

She  was  too  subtle  not  to  follow  the  trend  of  my  silence. 
And  she  was  as  direct  as  she  was  subtle. 

"You  must  go  aboard,  Humphrey,  and  find  out,"  she 
said.  "  And  if  you  want  to  laugh  at  me,  you  have  my  con- 
sent and  forgiveness." 

I  arose  obediently  and  went  down  the  beach. 

"  Do  be  careful,"  she  called  after  me. 

I  waved  my  arm  from  the  forecastle  head  and  dropped 
down  to  the  deck.  Aft  I  walked  to  the  cabin  companion, 
where  I  contented  myself  with  hailing  below.  Wolf 
Larsen  answered,  and  as  he  started  to  ascend  the  stairs  I 
cocked  my  revolver.  I  displayed  it  openly  during  our 


3IO  THE  SEA-WOLF 

conversation,  but  he  took  no  notice  of  it.  He  appeared 
the  same,  physically,  as  when  last  I  saw  him,  but  he  was 
gloomy  and  silent.  In  fact,  the  few  words  we  spoke  could 
hardly  be  called  a  conversation.  I  did  not  inquire  why  he 
had  not  been  ashore,  nor  did  he  ask  why  I  had  not  come 
aboard.  His  head  was  all  right  again,  he  said,  and  so, 
without  further  parley,  I  left  him. 

Maud  received  my  report  with  obvious  relief,  and  the 
sight  of  smoke  which  later  rose  in  the  galley  put  her  in  a 
more  cheerful  mood.  The  next  day,  and  the  next,  we  saw 
the  galley  smoke  rising,  and  sometimes  we  caught 
glimpses  of  him  on  the  poop.  But  that  was  all.  He 
made  no  attempt  to  come  ashore.  This  we  knew,  for  we 
still  maintained  our  night-watches.  We  were  waiting  for 
him  to  do  something,  to  show  his  hand,  so  to  say,  and  his 
inaction  puzzled  and  worried  us. 

A  week  of  this  passed  by.  We  had  no  other  interest 
than  Wolf  Larsen,  and  his  presence  weighed  us  down 
with  an  apprehension  which  prevented  us  from  doing  any 
of  the  little  things  we  had  planned. 

But  at  the  end  of  the  week  the  smoke  ceased  rising 
from  the  galley,  and  he  no  longer  showed  himself  on  the 
poop.  I  could  see  Maud's  solicitude  again  growing, 
though  she  timidly,  —  and  even  proudly,  I  think,  —  fore- 
bore  a  repetition  of  her  request.  After  all,  what  censure 
could  be  put  upon  her  ?  She  was  divinely  altruistic,  and 
she  was  a  woman.  Besides,  I  was  myself  aware  of  hurt  at 
thought  of  this  man  whom  I  had  tried  to  kill,  dying  alone 
with  his  fellow-creatures  so  near.  He  was  right.  The 
code  of  my  group  was  stronger  than  I.  The  fact  that  he 
had  hands,  feet,  and  a  body  shaped  somewhat  like  mine, 
constituted  a  claim  which  I  could  not  ignore. 

So  I  did  not  wait  a  second  time  for  Maud  to  send  me. 


THE  SEA-WOLF  311 

I  discovered  that  we  stood  in  need  of  condensed  milk  and 
marmalade,  and  announced  that  I  was  going  aboard.  I 
could  see  that  she  wavered.  She  even  went  so  far  as  to 
murmur  that  they  were  non-essentials  and  that  my  trip 
after  them  might  be  inexpedient  And  as  she  had  fol- 
lowed the  trend  of  my  silence,  she  now  followed  the  trend 
of  my  speech,  and  she  knew  that  I  was  going  aboard,  not 
because  of  condensed  milk  and  marmalade,  but  because  of 
her  and  of  her  anxiety,  which  she  knew  she  had  failed  to 
hide. 

I  took  off  my  shoes  when  I  gained  the  forecastle  head, 
and  went  noiselessly  aft  in  my  stocking  feet.  Nor  did  I 
call  this  time  from  the  top  of  the  companionway.  Cau- 
tiously descending,  I  found  the  cabin  deserted.  The  door 
to  his  state-room  was  closed.  At  first  I  thought  of  knock- 
ing, then  I  remembered  my  ostensible  errand  and  resolved 
to  carry  it  out.  Carefully  avoiding  noise,  I  lifted  the 
trap-door  in  the  floor  and  set  it  to  one  side.  The  slop- 
chest,  as  well  as  the  provisions,  was  stored  in  the  lazarette, 
and  I  took  advantage  of  the  opportunity  to  lay  in  a  stock 
of  underclothing. 

As  I  emerged  from  the  lazarette  I  heard  sounds  in  Wolf 
Larsen's  state-room.  I  crouched  and  listened.  The  door- 
knob rattled.  Furtively,  instinctively,  I  slunk  back  behind 
the  table  and  drew  and  cocked  my  revolver.  The  door 
swung  open  and  he  came  forth.  Never  had  I  seen  so  pro- 
found a  despair  as  that  which  I  saw  on  his  face,  —  the  face 
of  Wolf  Larsen  the  fighter,  the  strong  man,  the  indomi- 
table one.  For  all  the  world  like  a  woman  wringing  her 
hands,  he  raised  his  clenched  fists  and  groaned.  One  fist 
unclosed,  and  the  open  palm  swept  across  his  eyes  as 
though  brushing  away  cobwebs. 

"  God !  God !  "  he  groaned,  and  the  clenched  fists  were 


312  THE  SEA-WOLF 

raised  again  to  the  infinite  despair  with  which  his  throat 
vibrated. 

It  was  horrible.  I  was  trembling  all  over,  and  I  could 
feel  the  shivers  running  up  and  down  my  spine  and  the 
sweat  standing  out  on  my  forehead.  Surely  there  can  be 
little  in  this  world  more  awful  than  the  spectacle  of  a 
strong  man  in  the  moment  when  he  is  utterly  weak  and 
broken. 

But  Wolf  Larsen  regained  control  of  himself  by  an 
exertion  of  his  remarkable  will.  And  it  was  exertion. 
His  whole  frame  shook  with  the  struggle.  He  resembled 
a  man  on  the  verge  of  a  fit.  His  face  strove  to  compose 
itself,  writhing  and  twisting  in  the  effort  till  he  broke 
down  again.  Once  more  the  clenched  fists  went  upward 
and  he  groaned.  He  caught  his  breath  once  or  twice  and 
sobbed.  Then  he  was  successful.  I  could  have  thought 
him  the  old  Wolf  Larsen,  and  yet  there  was  in  his  move- 
ments a  vague  suggestion  of  weakness  and  indecision. 
He  started  for  the  companionway,  and  stepped  forward 
quite  as  I  had  been  accustomed  to  see  him  do ;  and  yet 
again,  in  his  very  walk,  there  seemed  that  suggestion  of 
weakness  and  indecision. 

I  was  now  concerned  with  fear  for  myself.  The  open 
trap  lay  directly  in  his  path,  and  his  discovery  of  it  would 
lead  instantly  to  his  discovery  of  me.  I  was  angry  with 
myself  for  being  caught  in  so  cowardly  a  position,  crouch- 
ing on  the  floor.  There  was  yet  time.  I  rose  swiftly  to 
my  feet,  and,  I  know,  quite  unconsciously  assumed  a  de- 
fiant attitude.  He  took  no  notice  of  me.  Nor  did  he 
notice  the  open  trap.  Before  I  could  grasp  the  situation, 
or  act,  he  had  walked  right  into  the  trap.  One  foot  was 
descending  into  the  opening,  while  the  other  foot  was  just 
on  the  verge  of  beginning  the  uplift.  But  when  the  de- 


THE  SEA-WOLF  313 

scending  foot  missed  the  solid  flooring  and  felt  vacancy 
beneath,  it  was  the  old  Wolf  Larsen  and  the  tiger  muscles 
that  made  the  falling  body  spring  across  the  opening, 
even  as  it  fell,  so  that  he  struck  on  his  chest  and  stomach, 
with  arms  outstretched,  on  the  floor  of  the  opposite  side. 
The  next  instant  he  had  drawn  up  his  legs  and  rolled 
clear.  But  he  rolled  into  my  marmalade  and  underclothes 
and  against  the  trap-door. 

The  expression  on  his  face  was  one  of  complete  compre- 
hension. But  before  I  could  guess  what  he  had  compre- 
hended, he  had  dropped  the  trap-door  into  place,  closing 
the  lazarette.  Then  I  understood.  He  thought  he  had 
me  inside.  Also,  he  was  blind,  blind  as  a  bat.  I  watched 
him,  breathing  carefully  so  that  he  should  not  hear  me. 
He  stepped  quickly  to  his  state-room.  I  saw  his.  hand  miss 
the  door-knob  by  an  inch,  quickly  fumble  for  it,  and  find 
it.  This  was  my  chance.  I  tiptoed  across  the  cabin  and 
to  the  top  of  the  stairs.  He  came  back,  dragging  a  heavy 
sea-chest,  which  he  deposited  on  top  of  the  trap.  Not 
content  with  this,  he  fetched  a  second  chest  and  placed  it 
on  top  of  the  first.  Then  he  gathered  up  the  marmalade 
and  underclothes  and  put  them  on  the  table.  When  he 
started  up  the  companionway,  I  retreated,  silently  rolling 
over  on  top  of  the  cabin. 

He  shoved  the  slide  part  way  back  and  rested  his  arms 
on  it,  his  body  still  in  the  companionway.  His  attitude 
was  of  one  looking  forward  the  length  of  the  schooner,  or 
staring,  rather,  for  his  eyes  were  fixed  and  unblinking.  I 
was  only  five  feet  away  and  directly  in  what  should  have 
been  his  line  of  vision.  It  was  uncanny.  I  felt  myself  a 
ghost,  what  of  my  invisibility.  I  waved  my  hand  back 
and  forth,  of  course  without  effect;  but  when  the  moving 
shadow  fell  across  his  face  I  saw  at  once  that  he  was  sus- 


314  THE  SEA-WOLF 

ceptible  to  the  impression.  His  face  became  more  expec- 
tant and  tense  as  he  tried  to  analyze  and  identify  the 
impression.  He  knew  that  he  had  responded  to  some- 
thing from  without,  that  his  sensibility  had  been  touched 
by  a  changing  something  in  his  environment ;  but  what  it 
was  he  could  not  discover.  I  ceased  waving  my  hand,  so 
that  the  shadow  remained  stationary.  He  slowly  moved 
his  head  back  and  forth  under  it  and  turned  from  side  to 
side,  now  in  the  sunshine,  now  in  the  shade,  feeling  the 
shadow,  as  it  were,  testing  it  by  sensation. 

I,  too,  was  busy,  trying  to  reason  out  how  he  was  aware 
of  the  existence  of  so  intangible  a  thing  as  a  shadow.  If 
it  were  his  eyeballs  only  that  were  affected,  or  if  his  optic 
nerve  were  not  wholly  destroyed,  the  explanation  was 
simple.  If  otherwise,  then  the  only  conclusion  I  could 
reach  was  that  the  sensitive  skin  recognized  the  difference 
of  temperature  between  shade  and  sunshine.  Or,  perhaps, 
—  who  can  tell?  —  it  was  that  fabled  sixth  sense  which 
conveyed  to  him  the  loom  and  feel  of  an  object  close  at 
hand. 

Giving  over  his  attempt  to  determine  the  shadow,  he 
stepped  on  deck  and  started  forward,  walking  with  a  swift- 
ness and  confidence  which  surprised  me.  And  still  there 
was  that  hint  of  the  feebleness  of  the  blind  in  his  walk.  I 
knew  it  now  for  what  it  was. 

To  my  amused  chagrin,  he  discovered  my  shoes  on  the 
forecastle  head  and  brought  them  back  with  him  into  the 
galley.  I  watched  him  build  the  fire  and  set  about  cook- 
ing food  for  himself;  then  I  stole  into  the  cabin  for  my 
marmalade  and  underclothes,  slipped  back  past  the  galley, 
and  climbed  down  to  the  beach  to  deliver  my  barefoot 
report 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

"!T'S  too  bad  the  Ghost  has  lost  her  masts.  Why, 
we  could  sail  away  in  her.  Don't  you  think  we  could, 
Humphrey  ?" 

I  sprang  excitedly  to  my  feet. 

"  I  wonder,  I  wonder,"  I  repeated,  pacing  up  and  down. 

Maud's  eyes  were  shining  with  anticipation  as  they  fol- 
lowed me.  She  had  such  faith  in  me !  And  the  thought 
of  it  was  so  much  added  power.  I  remembered  Michelet's 
"To  man,  woman  is  as  the  earth  was  to  her  legendary 
son ;  he  has  but  to  fall  down  and  kiss  her  breast  and  he  is 
strong  again."  For  the  first  time  I  knew  the  wonderful 
truth  of  his  words.  Why,  I  was  living  them.  Maud  was 
all  this  to  me,  an  unfailing  source  of  strength  and  courage. 
I  had  but  to  look  at  her,  or  think  of  her,  and  be  strong  again. 

"  It  can  be  done,  it  can  be  done,"  I  was  thinking  and 
asserting  aloud.  "  What  men  have  done,  I  can  do ;  and 
if  they  have  never  done  this  before,  still  I  can  do  it." 

"  What  ?  for  goodness  sake,"  Maud  demanded.  "  Do  be 
merciful.  What  is  it  you  can  do  ? " 

"  We  can  do  it,"  I  amended.  "Why,  nothing  else  than 
put  the  masts  back  into  the  Ghost  and  sail  away." 

"  Humphrey !  "  she  exclaimed. 

And  I  felt  as  proud  of  my  conception  as  if  it  were 
already  a  fact  accomplished. 

"  But  how  is  it  possible  to  be  done  ? "  she  asked. 

"  I  don't  know,"  was  my  answer.  "  I  know  only  that  I 
am  capable  of  doing  anything  these  days." 

315 


3l6  THE  SEA-WOLF 

I  smiled  proudly  at  her  —  too  proudly,  for  she  dropped 
her  eyes  and  was  for  the  moment  silent. 

"  But  there  is  Captain  Larsen,"  she  objected. 

"  Blind  and  helpless,"  I  answered  promptly,  waving  him 
aside  as  a  straw. 

"  But  those  terrible  hands  of  his !  You  know  how  he 
leaped  across  the  opening  of  the  lazarette." 

"And  you  know  also  how  I  crept  about  and  avoided 
him,"  I  contended  gayly. 

"  And  lost  your  shoes." 

"  You'd  hardly  expect  them  to  avoid  Wolf  Larsen  with- 
out my  feet  inside  of  them." 

We  both  laughed,  and  then  went  seriously  to  work  con- 
structing the  plan  whereby  we  were  to  step  the  masts  of 
the  Ghost  and  return  to  the  world.  I  remembered  hazily 
the  physics  of  my  school  days,  while  the  last  few  months 
had  given  me  practical  experience  with  mechanical  pur- 
chases. I  must  say,  though,  when  we  walked  down  to  the 
Ghost  to  inspect  more  closely  the  task  before  us,  that  the 
sight  of  the  great  masts  lying  in  the  water  almost  disheart- 
ened me.  Where  were  we  to  begin  ?  If  there  had  been 
one  mast  standing,  something  high  up  to  which  to  fasten 
blocks  and  tackles  !  But  there  was  nothing.  It  reminded 
me  of  the  problem  of  lifting  oneself  by  one's  boot-straps. 
I  understood  the  mechanics  of  levers ;  but  where  was  I  to 
get  a  fulcrum  ? 

There  was  the  mainmast,  fifteen  inches  in  diameter  at 
what  was  now  the  butt,  still  sixty-five  feet  in  length,  and 
weighing,  I  roughly  calculated,  at  least  three  thousand 
pounds.  And  then  came  the  foremast,  larger  in  diameter 
and  weighing  surely  thirty-five  hundred  pounds.  Where 
was  I  to  begin  ?  Maud  stood  silently  by  my  side,  while  I 
evolved  in  my  mind  the  contrivance  known  among  sailors 


THE  SEA-WOLF  317 

as  "  shears."  But,  though  known  to  sailors,  I  invented  it 
there  on  Endeavor  Island.  By  crossing  and  lashing  the 
ends  of  two  spars,  and  then  elevating  them  in  the  air  like 
an  inverted  "  V,"  I  could  get  a  point  above  the  deck  to 
which  to  make  fast  my  hoisting  tackle.  To  this  hoist- 
ing tackle  I  could,  if  necessary,  attach  a  second  hoisting 
tackle.  And  then  there  was  the  windlass! 

Maud  saw  that  I  had  achieved  a  solution,  and  her  eyes 
warmed  sympathetically. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ? "  she  asked. 

"  Clear  that  raffle,"  I  answered,  pointing  to  the  tangled 
wreckage  overside. 

Ah,  the  decisiveness,  the  very  sound  of  the  words,  was 
good  in  my  ears.  "  Clear  that  raffle !  "  Imagine  so  salty 
a  phrase  on  the  lips  of  the  Humphrey  Van  Weyden  of  a 
few  months  gone! 

There  must  have  been  a  touch  of  the  melodramatic  in 
my  pose  and  voice,  for  Maud  smiled.  Her  appreciation  of 
the  ridiculous  was  keen,  and  in  all  things  she  unerringly 
saw  and  felt,  where  it  existed,  the  touch  of  sham,  the  over- 
shading,  the  overtone.  It  was  this  which  had  given  poise 
and  penetration  to  her  own  work  and  made  her  of  worth  to 
the  world.  The  serious  critic,  with  the  sense  of  humor  and 
the  power  of  expression,  must  inevitably  command  the 
world's  ear.  And  so  it  was  that  she  had  commanded. 
Her  sense  of  humor  was  really  the  artist's  instinct  for 
proportion. 

"  I'm  sure  I've  heard  it  before,  somewhere,  in  books," 
she  murmured  gleefully. 

I  had  an  instinct  for  proportion  myself,  and  I  collapsed 
forthwith,  descending  from  the  dominant  pose  of  a  master 
of  matter  to  a  state  of  humble  confusion  which  was,  to  say 
the  least,  very  miserable. 


3l8  THE  SEA-WOLF 

Her  hand  leapt  out  at  once  to  mine. 

"I'm  so  sorry,"  she  said. 

"  No  need  to  be,"  I  gulped.  "  It  does  me  good.  There's 
too  much  of  the  schoolboy  in  me.  All  of  which  is  neither 
here  nor  there.  What  we've  got  to  do  is  actually  and  lit- 
erally to  clear  that  raffle.  If  you'll  come  with  me  in  the 
boat,  we'll  get  to  work  and  straighten  things  out." 

"  '  When  the  topmen  clear  the  raffle  with  their  clasp- 
knives  in  their  teeth,' "  she  quoted  at  me  ;  and  for  the 
rest  of  the  afternoon  we  made  merry  over  our  labor. 

Her  task  was  to  hold  the  boat  in  position  while  I  worked 
at  the  tangle.  And  such  a  tangle  —  halyards,  sheets, 
guys,  downhauls,  shrouds,  stays,  all  washed  about  and 
back  and  forth  and  through,  and  twined  and  knotted  by 
the  sea.  I  cut  no  more  than  was  necessary,  and  what 
with  passing  the  long  ropes  under  and  around  the  booms 
and  masts,  of  unreeving  the  halyards  and  sheets,  of  coiling 
down  in  the  boat  and  uncoiling  in  order  to  pass  through 
another  knot  in  the  bight,  I  was  soon  wet  to  the  skin. 

The  sails  did  require  some  cutting,  and  the  canvas, 
heavy  with  water,  tried  my  strength  severely ;  but  I  suc- 
ceeded before  nightfall  in  getting  it  all  spread  out  on  the 
beach  to  dry.  We  were  both  very  tired  when  we  knocked 
off  for  supper,  and  we  had  done  good  work,  too,  though  to 
the  eye  it  appeared  insignificant. 

Next  morning,  with  Maud  as  able  assistant,  I  went  into 
the  hold  of  the  Ghost  to  clear  the  steps  of  the  mast-butts. 
We  had  no  more  than  begun  work  when  the  sound  of  my 
knocking  and  hammering  brought  Wolf  Larsen. 

"Hello  below !  "  he  cried  down  the  open  hatch. 

The  sound  of  his  voice  made  Maud  quickly  draw  close 
to  me,  as  for  protection,  and  she  rested  one  hand  on  my 
arm  while  we  parleyed. 


THE   SEA-WOLF  319 

"  Hello  on  deck,"  I  replied.     "  Good  morning  to  you." 

"  What  are  you  doing  down  there  ? "  he  demanded. 
"  Trying  to  scuttle  my  ship  for  me  ? " 

"  Quite  the  opposite ;  I'm  repairing  her,"  was  my 
answer. 

"  But  what  in  thunder  are  you  repairing  ? "  There  was 
puzzlement  in  his  voice. 

"Why,  I'm  getting  everything  ready  for  restepping  the 
masts,"  I  replied  easily,  as  though  it  were  the  simplest 
project  imaginable. 

"  It  seems  as  though  you're  standing  on  your  own  legs 
at  last,  Hump,"  we  heard  him  say  ;  and  then  for  some 
time  he  was  silent. 

"But  I  say,  Hump,"  he  called  down,  "you  can't  do 
it." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  can,"  I  retorted.     "  I'm  doing  it  now." 

"  But  this  is  my  vessel,  my  particular  property.  What 
if  I  forbid  you  ? " 

"You  forget,"  I  replied.  "You  are  no  longer  the  big- 
gest bit  of  the  ferment.  You  were,  once,  and  able  to  eat 
me,  as  you  were  pleased  to  phrase  it ;  but  there  has  been 
a  diminishing,  and  I  am  now  able  to  eat  you.  The  yeast 
has  grown  stale." 

He  gave  a  short,  disagreeable  laugh.  "I  see  you're 
working  my  philosophy  back  on  me  for  all  it  is  worth. 
But  don't  make  the  mistake  of  underestimating  me.  For 
your  own  good  I  warn  you." 

"  Since  when  have  you  become  a  philanthropist  ? "  I 
queried.  "Confess,  now,  in  warning  me  for  my  own 
good,  that  you  are  very  inconsistent." 

He  ignored  -my  sarcasm,  saying,  "  Suppose  I  clap  the 
hatch  on,  now?  You  won't  fool  me  as  you  did  in  the 
lazarette." 


32O  THE  SEA-WOLF 

"  Wolf  Larsen,"  I  said  sternly,  for  the  first  time  address- 
ing him  by  this  his  most  familiar  name,  "  I  am  unable  to 
shoot  a  helpless,  unresisting  man.  You  have  proved  that 
to  my  satisfaction  as  well  as  yours.  But  I  warn  you  now, 
and  not  so  much  for  your  own  good  as  for  mine,  that  I 
shall  shoot  you  the  moment  you  attempt  a  hostile  act.  I 
can  shoot  you  now,  as  I  stand  here ;  and  if  you  are  so 
minded,  just  go  ahead  and  try  to  clap  on  the  hatch." 

"  Nevertheless,  I  forbid  you,  I  distinctly  forbid  your 
tampering  with  my  ship." 

"  But,  man ! "  I  expostulated,  "  you  advance  the  fact 
that  it  is  your  ship  as  though  it  were  a  moral  right.  You 
have  never  considered  moral  rights  in  your  dealings  with 
others.  You  surely  do  not  dream  that  I'll  consider  them 
in  dealing  with  you  ?  " 

I  had  stepped  underneath  the  open  hatchway  so  that  I 
could  see  him.  The  lack  of  expression  on  his  face,  so  dif- 
ferent from  when  I  had  watched  him  unseen,  was  enhanced 
by  the  unblinking,  staring  eyes.  It  was  not  a  pleasant 
face  to  look  upon. 

"And  none  so  poor,  not  even  Hump,  to  do  him  rev- 
erence," he  sneered. 

The  sneer  was  wholly  in  his  voice.  His  face  remained 
expressionless  as  ever. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Miss  Brewster,"  he  said  suddenly, 
after  a  pause. 

I  started.  She  had  made  no  noise  whatever,  had  not 
even  moved.  Could  it  be  that  some  glimmer  of  vision 
remained  to  him  ?  or  that  his  vision  was  coming  back  ? 

"  How  do  you  do,  Captain  Larsen,"  she  answered. 
'•'  Pray,  how  did  you  know  I  was  here  ?  " 

"  Heard  you  breathing,  of  course.  I  say,  Hump's  im- 
proving, don't  you  think  so  ?  " 


THE  SEA-WOLF  321 

*  I  don't  know,"  she  answered,  smiling  at  me.  "  I  have 
never  seen  him  otherwise." 

"  You  should  have  seen  him  before,  then." 

"Wolf  Larsen,  in  large  doses,"  I  murmured,  "before 
and  after  taking." 

"I  want  to  tell  you  again,  Hump,"  he  said  threaten- 
ingly, "  that  you'd  better  leave  things  alone." 

"  But  don't  you  care  to  escape  as  well  as  we  ?  "  I  asked 
incredulously. 

"  No,"  was  his  answer.     "  I  intend  dying  here." 

"Well,  we  don't,"  I  concluded  defiantly,  beginning 
again  my  knocking  and  hammering. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

NEXT  day,  the  mast-steps  clear  and  everything  in  readi- 
ness, we  started  to  get  the  two  topmasts  aboard.  The 
maintopmast  was  over  thirty  feet  in  length,  the  fore- 
topmast  nearly  thirty,  and  it  was  of  these  that  I  intended 
making  the  shears.  It  was  puzzling  work.  Fastening 
one  end  of  a  heavy  tackle  to  the  windlass,  and  with  the 
other  end  fast  to  the  butt  of  the  foretopmast,  I  began  to 
heave.  Maud  held  the  turn  on  the  windlass  and  coiled 
down  the  slack. 

We  were  astonished  at  the  ease  with  which  the  spar 
was  lifted.  It  was  an  improved  crank  windlass,  and  the 
purchase  it  gave  was  enormous.  Of  course,  what  it  gave 
us  in  power  we  paid  for  in  distance ;  as  many  times  as  it 
doubled  my  strength,  that  many  times  was  doubled  the 
length  of  rope  I  heaved  in.  The  tackle  dragged  heavily 
across  the  rail,  increasing  its  drag  as  the  spar  arose  more 
and  more  out  of  the  water,  and  the  exertion  on  the  wind- 
lass grew  severe. 

But  when  the  butt  of  the  topmast  was  level  with  the 
rail,  everything  came  to  a  standstill. 

"  I  might  have  known  it,"  I  said  impatiently.  "  Now 
we  have  to  do  it  all  over  again." 

"Why  not  fasten  the  tackle  part  way  down  the  mast?" 
Maud  suggested. 

"It's  what  I  should  have  done  at  first,"  I  answered, 
hugely  disgusted  with  myself. 

Slipping  off  a  turn,  I  lowered  the  mast  back  into  the 

322 


THE  SEA-WOLF  323 

water  and  fastened  the  tackle  a  third  of  the  way  down 
from  the  butt.  In  an  hour,  what  of  this  and  of  rests 
between  the  heaving,  I  had  hoisted  it  to  the  point  where 
I  could  hoist  no  more.  Eight  feet  of  the  butt  wa$  above 
the  rail,  and  I  was  as  far  away  as  ever  from  getting  the 
spar  on  board.  I  sat  down  and  pondered  the  problem.  It 
did  not  take  long.  I  sprang  jubilantly  to  my  feet. 

"  Now  I  have  it !  "  I  cried.  "  I  ought  to  make  the  tackle 
fast  at  the  point  of  balance.  And  what  we  learn  of  this 
will  serve  us  with  everything  else  we  have  to  hoist  aboard." 

Once  again  I  undid  all  my  work  by  lowering  the  mast 
into  the  water.  But  I  miscalculated  the  point  of  balance, 
so  that  when  I  heaved  the  top  of  the  mast  came  up  instead 
of  the  butt.  Maud  looked  despair,  but  I  laughed  and  said 
it  would  do  just  as  well. 

Instructing  her  how  to  hold  the  turn  and  be  ready  to 
slack  away  at  command,  I  laid  hold  of  the  mast  with  my 
hands  and  tried  to  balance  it  inboard  across  the  rail. 
When  I  thought  I  had  it  I  cried  to  her  to  slack  away ;  but 
the  spar  righted,  despite  my  efforts,  and  dropped  back 
toward  the  water.  Again  I  heaved  it  up  to  its  old  position, 
for  I  had  now  another  idea.  I  remembered  the  watch- 
tackle, —  a  small  double  and  single  block  affair,  —  and 
fetched  it. 

While  I  was  rigging  it  between  the  top  of  the  spar  and 
the  opposite  rail,  Wolf  Larsen  came  on  the  scene.  We 
exchanged  nothing  more  than  good  mornings,  and,  though 
he  could  not  see,  he  sat  on  the  rail  out  of  the  way  and  fol- 
lowed by  the  sound  all  that  I  did. 

Again  instructing  Maud  to  slack  away  at  the  windlass 
when  I  gave  the  word,  I  proceeded  to  heave  on  the  watch- 
tackle.  Slowly  the  mast  swung  in  until  it  balanced  at  right 
angles  across  the  rail ;  and  then  I  discovered  to  my  amaze- 


324  THE  SEA-WOLF 

ment  that  there  was  no  need  for  Maud  to  slack  away.  In 
fact,  the  very  opposite  was  necessary.  Making  the  watch- 
tackle  fast,  I  hove  on  the  windlass  and  brought  in  the  mast, 
inch  by  inch,  till  its  top  tilted  down  to  the  deck  and  finally 
its  whole  length  lay  on  the  deck. 

I  looked  at  my  watch.  It  was  twelve  o'clock.  My  back 
was  aching  sorely,  and  I  felt  extremely  tired  and  hungry. 
And  there  on  the  deck  was  a  single  stick  of  timber  to  show 
for  a  whole  morning's  work.  For  the  first  time  I  thoroughly 
realized  the  extent  of  the  task  before  us.  But  I  was  learn- 
ing, I  was  learning.  The  afternoon  would  show  far  more 
accomplished.  And  it  did ;  for  we  returned  at  one  o'clock, 
rested  and  strengthened  by  a  hearty  dinner. 

In  less  than  an  hour  I  had  the  maintopmast  on  deck 
and  was  constructing  the  shears.  Lashing  the  two  top- 
masts together,  and  making  allowance  for  their  unequal 
length,  at  the  point  of  intersection  I  attached  the  double 
block  of  the  main  throat-halyards.  This,  with  the  single 
block  and  the  throat-halyards  themselves,  gave  me  a  hoist- 
ing tackle.  To  prevent  the  butts  of  the  masts  from  slipping 
on  the  deck,  I  nailed  down  thick  cleats.  Everything  in 
readiness,  I  made  a  line  fast  to  the  apex  of  the  shears 
and  carried  it  directly  to  the  windlass.  I  was  growing  to 
have  faith  in  that  windlass,  for  it  gave  me  power  beyond 
all  expectation.  As  usual,  Maud  held  the  turn  while  I 
heaved.  The  shears  rose  in  the  air. 

Then  I  discovered  I  had  forgotten  guy-ropes.  This 
necessitated  my  climbing  the  shears,  which  I  did  twice, 
before  I  finished  guying  it  fore  and  aft  and  to  either  side. 
Twilight  had  set  in  by  the  time  this  was  accomplished. 
Wolf  Larsen,  who  had  sat  about  and  listened  all  afternoon 
and  never  opened  his  mouth,  had  taken  himself  off  to  the 
galley  and  started  his  supper.  I  felt  quite  stiff  across  the 


THE  SEA-WOLF  3:5 

small  of  the  back,  so  much  so  that  I  straightened  up  with 
an  effort  and  with  pain.  I  looked  proudly  at  my  work. 
It  was  beginning  to  show.  I  was  wild  with  desire,  like  a 
child  with  a  new  toy,  to  hoist  something  with  my  shears. 

"  I  wish  it  weren't  so  late,"  I  said.  "  I'd  like  to  see  how 
it  works." 

"  Don't  be  a  glutton,  Humphrey,"  Maud  chided  me. 
"  Remember,  to-morrow  is  coming,  and  you're  so  tired  now 
that  you  can  hardly  stand." 

"  And  you  ? "  I  said,  with  sudden  solicitude.  "  You  must 
be  very  tired.  You  have  worked  hard  and  nobly.  I  am 
proud  of  you,  Maud." 

"  Not  half  so  proud  as  I  am  of  you,  nor  with  half  the 
reason,"  she  answered,  looking  me  straight  in  the  eyes  for 
a  moment  with  an  expression  in  her  own  and  a  dancing, 
tremulous  light  which  I  had  not  seen  before  and  which 
gave  me  a  pang  of  quick  delight,  —  I  know  not  why,  for  I 
did  not  understand  it.  Then  she  dropped  her  eyes,  to  lift 
them  again,  laughing. 

"If  our  friends  could  see  us  now,"  she  said.  "Look 
at  us.  Have  you  ever  paused  for  a  moment  to  consider 
our  appearance  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  have  considered  yours,  frequently,"  I  answered, 
puzzling  over  what  I  had  seen  in  her  eyes  and  puzzled  by 
her  sudden  change  of  subject. 

"  Mercy ! "  she  cried.     "And  what  do  I  look  like,  pray  ? " 

"A  scarecrow,  I'm  afraid,"  I  replied.  "Just  glance  at 
your  draggled  skirts,  for  instance.  Look  at  those  three- 
cornered  tears.  And  such  a  waist !  It  would  not  require 
a  Sherlock  Holmes  to  deduce  that  you  have  been  cooking 
over  a  camp-fire,  to  say  nothing  of  trying  out  seal-blubber. 
And  to  cap  it  all,  that  cap !  And  all  that  is  the  woman 
who  wrote  *  A  Kiss  Endured.' " 


326  THE   SEA-WOLF 

She  made  me  an  elaborate  and  stately  courtesy,  and  said, 
"As  for  you,  sir  —  " 

And  yet,  through  the  five  minutes  of  banter  which  fol- 
lowed, there  was  a  serious  something  underneath  the  fun 
which  I  could  not  but  relate  to  the  strange  and  fleeting 
expression  I  had  caught  in  her  eyes.  What  was  it  ?  Could 
it  be  that  our  eyes  were  speaking  beyond  the  will  of  our 
speech  ?  My  eyes  had  spoken,  I  knew,  until  I  had  found 
the  culprits  out  and  silenced  them.  This  had  occurred 
several  times.  But  had  she  seen  the  clamor  in  them  and 
understood  ?  And  had  her  eyes  so  spoken  to  me  ?  What 
else  could  that  expression  have  meant  —  that  dancing, 
tremulous  light,  and  a  something  more  which  words  could 
not  describe  ?  And  yet  it  could  not  be.  It  was  impossible. 
Besides,  I  was  not  skilled  in  the  speech  of  eyes.  I 
was  only  Humphrey  Van  Weyden,  a  bookish  fellow 
who  loved.  And  to  love,  and  to  wait  and  win  love, 
that  surely  was  glorious  enough  for  me.  And  thus  I 
thought,  even  as  we  chaffed  each  other's  appearance,  until 
we  arrived  ashore  and  there  were  other  things  to  think 
about. 

"  It's  a  shame,  after  working  hard  all  day,  that  we  can- 
not have  an  uninterrupted  night's  sleep,"  I  complained, 
after  supper. 

"  But  there  can  be  no  danger  now  ?  from  a  blind  man  ? " 
she  queried. 

"  I  shall  never  be  able  to  trust  him,"  I  averred,  "  and  far 
less  now  that  he  is  blind.  The  liability  is  that  his  part 
helplessness  will  make  him  more  malignant  than  ever.  I 
know  what  I  shall  do  to-morrow,  the  first  thing  —  run  out 
a  light  anchor  and  kedge  the  schooner  off  the  beach.  And 
each  night  when  we  come  ashore  in  the  boat,  Mr.  Wolf 
Larsen  will  be  left  a  prisoner  on  board.  So  this  will  be 


THE   SEA-WOLF  327 

the  last  night  we  have  to  stand  watch,  and  because  of  that 
it  will  go  the  easier." 

We  were  awake  early  and  just  finishing  breakfast  as 
daylight  came. 

"  Oh,  Humphrey ! "  I  heard  Maud  cry  in  dismay  and 
suddenly  stop. 

I  looked  at  her.  She  was  gazing  at  the  Ghost.  I  fol- 
lowed her  gaze,  but  could  see  nothing  unusual.  She  looked 
at  me,  and  I  looked  inquiry  back. 

"  The  shears,"  she  said,  and  her  voice  trembled. 

I  had  forgotten  their  existence.  I  looked  again,  but 
could  not  see  them. 

"If  he  has  —  "  I  muttered  savagely. 

She  put  her  hand  sympathetically  on  mine,  and  said, 
"You  will  have  to  begin  over  again." 

"  Oh,  believe  me,  my  anger  means  nothing  ;  I  could  not 
hurt  a  fly,"  I  smiled  back  bitterly.  "  And  the  worst  of  it 
is,  he  knows  it.  You  are  right.  If  he  has  destroyed  the 
shears,  I  shall  do  nothing  except  begin  over  again." 

"But  I'll  stand  my  watch  on  board  hereafter,"  I  blurted 
out  a  moment  later.  "  And  if  he  interferes —  " 

"  But  I  dare  not  stay  ashore  all  night  alone,"  Maud  was 
saying  when  I  came  back  to  myself.  "It  would  be  so 
much  nicer  if  he  would  be  friendly  with  us  and  help  us. 
We  could  all  live  comfortably  aboard." 

"  We  will,"  I  asserted,  still  savagely,  for  the  destruction 
of  my  beloved  shears  had  hit  me  hard.  "That  is,  you  and 
I  will  live  aboard,  friendly  or  not  with  Wolf  Larsen." 

"It's  childish,"  I  laughed  later,  "for  him  to  do  such 
things,  and  for  me  to  grow  angry  over  them,  for  that 
matter." 

But  my  heart  smote  me  when  we  climbed  aboard  and 
looked  at  the  havoc  he  had  done.  The  shears  were  gone 


328  THE  SEA-WOLF 

altogether.  The  guys  had  been  slashed  right  and  left. 
The  throat-halyards  which  I  had  rigged  were  cut  across 
through  every  part.  And  he  knew  I  could  not  splice. 
A  thought  struck  me.  I  ran  to  the  windlass.  It  would 
not  work.  He  had  broken  it.  We  looked  at  each  other 
in  consternation.  Then  I  ran  to  the  side.  The  masts, 
booms,  and  gaffs  I  had  cleared  were  gone.  He  had  found 
the  lines  which  held  them,  and  cast  them  adrift. 

Tears  were  in  Maud's  eyes,  and  I  do  believe  they  were 
for  me.  I  could  have  wept  myself.  Where  now  was  our 
project  of  remasting  the  Ghost?  He  had  done  his  work 
well.  I  sat  down  on  the  hatch-combing  and  rested  my 
chin  on  my  hands  in  black  despair. 

"  He  deserves  to  die,"  I  cried  out ;  "  and  God  forgive 
me,  I  am  not  man  enough  to  be  his  executioner." 

But  Maud  was  by  my  side,  passing  her  hand  soothingly 
through  my  hair  as  though  I  were  a  child,  and  saying, 
"  There,  there ;  it  will  all  come  right.  We  are  in  the  right, 
and  it  must  come  right." 

I  remembered  Michelet  and  leaned  my  head  against 
her;  and  truly  I  became  strong  again.  The  blessed 
woman  was  an  unfailing  fount  of  power  to  me.  What  did 
it  matter  ?  Only  a  set-back,  a  delay.  The  tide  could  not 
have  carried  the  masts  far  to  seaward,  and  there  had  been 
no  wind.  It  meant  merely  more  work  to  find  them  and 
tow  them  back.  And  besides,  it  was  a  lesson.  I  knew 
what  to  expect.  He  might  have  waited  and  destroyed  our 
work  more  effectually  when  we  had  more  accomplished. 

"  Here  he  comes  now,"  she  whispered. 

I  glanced  up.  He  was  strolling  leisurely  along  the  poop 
on  the  port  side. 

"  Take  no  notice  of  him,"  I  whispered.  "  He's  coming 
to  see  how  we  take  it.  Don't  let  him  know  that  we  know, 


THE  SEA-WOLF  329 

We  can  deny  him  that  satisfaction.  Take  off  your  shoes, 
—  that's  right,  —  and  carry  them  in  your  hand." 

And  then  we  played  hide-and-seek  with  the  blind  man. 
As  he  came  up  the  port  side  we  slipped  past  on  the  star- 
board ;  and  from  the  poop  we  watched  him  turn  and  start 
aft  on  our  track. 

He  must  have  known,  somehow,  that  we  were  on  board, 
for  he  said,  "  Good  morning,"  very  confidently,  and  waited 
for  the  greeting  to  be  returned.  Then  he  strolled  aft,  and 
we  slipped  forward. 

"  Oh,  I  know  you're  aboard,"  he  called  out,  and  I  could 
see  him  listen  intently  after  he  had  spoken. 

It  reminded  me  of  the  great  hoot-owl,  listening,  after  its 
booming  cry,  for  the  stir  of  its  frightened  prey.  But  we 
did  not  stir,  and  we  moved  only  when  he  moved.  And  so 
we  dodged  about  the  deck,  hand  in  hand,  like  a  couple  of 
children  chased  by  a  wicked  ogre,  till  Wolf  Larsen,  evi- 
dently in  disgust,  left  the  deck  for  the  cabin.  There  was 
glee  in  our  eyes,  and  suppressed  titters  in  our  mouths,  as 
we  put  on  our  shoes  and  clambered  over  the  side  into  the 
boat.  And  as  I  looked  into  Maud's  clear  brown  eyes  I  for- 
got the  evil  he  had  done,  and  I  knew  only  that  I  loved 
her,  and  that  because  of  her  the  strength  was  mine  to  win 
our  way  back  to  the  world 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

FOR  two  days  Maud  and  I  ranged  the  sea  and  explored 
the  beaches  in  search  of  the  missing  masts.  But  it  was 
not  till  the  third  day  that  we  found  them,  all  of  them,  the 
shears  included,  and,  of  all  perilous  places,  in  the  pound- 
ing surf  of  the  grim  southwestern  promontory.  And  how 
we  worked !  At  the  dark  end  of  the  first  day  we  returned, 
exhausted,  to  our  little  cove,  towing  the  mainmast  behind 
us.  And  we  had  been  compelled  to  row,  in  a  dead  calm, 
practically  every  inch  of  the  way. 

Another  day  of  heart-breaking  and  dangerous  toil  saw 
us  in  camp  with  the  two  topmasts  to  the  good.  The  day 
following  I  was  desperate,  and  I  rafted  together  the  fore- 
mast, the  fore  and  main  booms,  and  the  fore  and  main 
gaffs.  The  wind  was  favorable,  and  I  had  thought  to  tow 
them  back  under  sail ;  but  the  wind  baffled,  then  died  away, 
and  our  progress  with  the  oars  was  a  snail's  pace.  And  it 
was  such  dispiriting  effort.  To  throw  one's  whole  strength 
and  weight  on  the  oars,  and  to  feel  the  boat  checked  in  its 
forward  lunge  by  the  heavy  drag  behind,  was  not  exactly 
exhilarating. 

Night  began  to  fall,  and  to  make  matters  worse,  the 
wind  sprang  up  ahead.  Not  only  did  all  forward  motion 
cease,  but  we  began  to  drift  back  and  out  to  sea.  I  strug- 
gled at  the  oars  till  I  was  played  out.  Poor  Maud,  whom 
I  could  never  prevent  from  working  to  the  limit  of  her 
strength,  lay  weakly  back  in  the  stern-sheets.  I  could  row 
no  more.  My  bruised  and  swollen  hands  could  no  longer 

330 


THE  SEA-WOLF  331 

close  on  the  oar  handles.  My  wrists  and  arms  ached  in- 
tolerably, and,  though  I  had  eaten  heartily  of  a  twelve 
o'clock  lunch,  I  had  worked  so  hard  that  I  was  faint  from 
hunger. 

I  pulled  in  the  oars  and  bent  forward  to  the  line  which 
held  the  tow.  But  Maud's  hand  leaped  out  restrainingly 
to  mine. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?  "  she  asked  in  a  strained, 
tense  voice. 

"  Cast  it  off,"  I  answered,  slipping  a  turn  of  the  rope. 

But  her  fingers  closed  on  mine. 

"  Please  don't,"  she  begged. 

"  It  is  useless,"  I  answered.  "  Here  is  night,  and  the 
wind  blowing  us  off  the  land." 

"  But  think,  Humphrey.  If  we  cannot  sail  away  on  the 
Ghost,  we  may  remain  for  years  on  the  island  —  for  life 
even.  If  it  has  never  been  discovered  all  these  years,  it 
may  never  be  discovered." 

"You  forget  the  boat  we  found  on  the  beach,"  I  re- 
minded her. 

"  It  was  a  seal-hunting  boat,"  she  replied,  "  and  you 
know  perfectly  well  that  if  the  men  had  escaped  they 
would  have  been  back  to  make  their  fortunes  from  the 
rookery.  You  know  they  never  escaped." 

I  remained  silent,  undecided. 

"  Besides,"  she  added  haltingly,  "  it's  your  idea,  and  I 
want  to  see  you  succeed." 

Now  I  could  harden  my  heart.  As  soon  as  she  put  it 
on  a  flattering  personal  basis,  generosity  compelled  me  to 
deny  her. 

"  Better  years  on  the  island  than  to  die  to-night,  or  to- 
morrow,  or  the  next  day,  in  the  open  boat.  We  are  not 
prepared  to  brave  the  sea.  We  have  no  food,  no  water, 


332  THE  SEA-WOLF 

no  blankets,  nothing,  Why,  you'd  not  survive  the  night 
without  blankets.  I  know  how  strong  you  are.  You  are 
shivering  now." 

"  It  is  only  nervousness,"  she  answered.  "  I  am  afraid 
you  will  cast  off  the  masts  in  spite  of  me." 

"Oh,  please,  please,  Humphrey,  don't!"  she  burst  out, 
a  moment  later. 

And  so  it  ended,  with  the  phrase  she  knew  had  all  power 
over  me.  We  shivered  miserably  throughout  the  night. 
Now  and  again  I  fitfully  slept,  but  the  pain  of  the  cold 
always  aroused  me.  How  Maud  could  stand  it  was  beyond 
me.  I  was  too  tired  to  thrash  my  arms  about  and  warm 
myself,  but  I  found  strength  time  and  again  to  chafe  her 
hands  and  feet  to  restore  the  circulation.  And  still  she 
pleaded  with  me  not  to  cast  off  the  masts.  About  three  in 
the  morning  she  was  caught  by  a  cold  cramp,  and  after  I 
had  rubbed  her  out  of  that  she  became  quite  numb.  I  was 
frightened.  I  got  out  the  oars  and  made  her  row,  though 
she  was  so  weak  I  thought  she  would  faint  at  every  stroke. 

Morning  broke,  and  we  looked  long  in  the  growing  light 
for  our  island.  At  last  it  showed,  small  and  black,  on  the 
horizon,  fully  fifteen  miles  away.  I  scanned  the  sea  with 
my  glasses.  Far  away  in  the  southwest  I  could  see  a  dark 
line  on  the  water,  which  grew  even  as  I  looked  at  it. 

"  Fair  wind ! "  I  cried  in  a  husky  voice  I  did  not  recog- 
nize as  my  own. 

Maud  tried  to  reply,  but  could  not  speak.  Her  lips 
were  blue  with  cold,  and  she  was  hollow-eyed  —  but  ohy 
how  bravely  her  brown  eyes  looked  at  me !  How  piteously 
brave ! 

Again  I  fell  to  chafing  her  hands,  and  to  moving  her 
arms  up  and  down  and  about  until  she  could  thrash  them 
herself.  Then  I  compelled  her  to  stand  up,  and  though 


THE  SEA-WOLF  333 

she  would  have  fallen  had  I  not  supported  her,  I  forced 
her  to  walk  back  and  forth  the  several  steps  between  the 
thwart  and  the  stern-sheets,  and  finally  to  spring  up  and 
down. 

"  Oh,  you  brave,  brave  woman,'*  I  said,  when  I  saw  the 
life  coming  back  into  her  face.  "  Did  you  know  that  you 
were  brave  ? " 

"  I  never  used  to  be,"  she  answered.  "  I  was  never 
brave  till  I  knew  you.  It  is  you  who  have  made  me 
brave." 

"  Nor  I,  until  I  knew  you,"  I  answered. 

She  gave  me  a  quick  look,  and  again  I  caught  that 
dancing,  tremulous  light  and  something  more  in  her  eyes. 
But  it  was  only  for  the  moment.  Then  she  smiled. 

"  It  must  have  been  the  conditions,"  she  said ;  but  I 
knew  she  was  wrong,  and  I  wondered  if  she  likewise 
knew. 

Then  the  wind  came,  fair  and  fresh,  and  the  boat  was 
soon  laboring  through  a  heavy  sea  toward  the  island.  At 
half-past  three  in  the  afternoon  we  passed  the  southwestern 
promontory.  Not  only  were  we  hungry,  but  we  were  now 
suffering  from  thirst.  Our  lips  were  dry  and  cracked,  nor 
could  we  longer  moisten  them  with  our  tongues.  Then 
the  wind  slowly  died  down.  By  night  it  was  dead  calm 
and  I  was  toiling  once  more  at  the  oars  —  but  weakly, 
most  weakly.  At  two  in  the  morning  the  boat's  bow 
touched  the  beach  of  our  own  inner  cove,  and  I  stag- 
gered out  to  make  the  painter  fast.  Maud  could  not 
stand,  nor  had  I  strength  to  carry  her.  I  fell  in  the  sand 
with  her,  and,  when  I  had  recovered,  contented  myself 
with  putting  my  hands  under  her  shoulders  and  dragging 
her  up  the  beach  to  the  hut. 

The  next  day  we  did  no  work.     In  fact,  we  slept  til) 


334  THE  SEA-WOLF 

three  in  the  afternoon,  or  at  least  I  did,  for  I  awoke  to 
find  Maud  cooking  dinner.  Her  power  of  recuperation 
was  wonderful.  There  was  something  tenacious  about 
that  lily-frail  body  of  hers,  a  clutch  on  existence  which  one 
could  not  reconcile  with  its  patent  weakness. 

"You  know  I  was  travelling  to  Japan  for  my  health," 
she  said,  as  we  lingered  at  the  fire  after  dinner  and 
delighted  in  the  movelessness  of  loafing.  "  I  was  not  very 
strong.  I  never  was.  The  doctors  recommended  a  sea 
voyage,  and  I  chose  the  longest." 

"You  little  knew  what  you  were  choosing,"  I  laughed. 

"  But  I  shall  be  a  different  woman  for  the  experience, 
as  well  as  a  stronger  woman,"  she  answered;  "and,  I  hope, 
a  better  woman.  At  least  I  shall  understand  a  great  deal 
more  of  life." 

Then,  as  the  short  day  waned,  we  fell  to  discussing 
Wolf  Larsen's  blindness.  It  was  inexplicable.  And  that 
it  was  grave,  I  instanced  his  statement  that  he  intended  to 
stay  and  die  on  Endeavor  Island.  When  he,  strong  man 
that  he  was,  loving  life  as  he  did,  accepted  his  death,  it 
was  plain  that  he  was  troubled  by  something  more  than 
mere  blindness.  There  had  been  his  terrific  headaches, 
and  we  were  agreed  that  it  was  some  sort  of  brain  break- 
down, and  that  in  his  attacks  he  endured  pain  beyond  our 
comprehension. 

I  noticed,  as  we  talked  over  his  condition,  that  Maud's 
sympathy  went  out  to  him  more  and  more ;  yet  I  could 
not  but  love  her  for  it,  so  sweetly  womanly  was  it.  Besides, 
there  was  no  false  sentiment  about  her  feeling.  She  was 
agreed  that  the  most  rigorous  treatment  was  necessary  if 
we  were  to  escape,  though  she  recoiled  at  the  suggestion 
that  I  might  sometime  be  compelled  to  take  his  life  to 
save  my  own  —  "  our  own,"  she  put  it 


THE  SEA- WOLF  335 

In  the  morning  we  had  breakfast  and  were  at  work 
by  daylight.  I  found  a  light  kedge  anchor  in  the  fore 
hold,  where  such  things  were  kept,  and  with  a  deal  of 
exertion  got  it  on  deck  and  into  the  boat.  With  a  long 
running-line  coiled  down  in  the  stern,  I  rowed  well  out 
into  our  little  cove  and  dropped  the  anchor  into  the  water. 
There  was  no  wind,  the  tide  was  high,  and  the  schooner 
floated.  Casting  off  the  shore  lines,  I  kedged  her  out  by 
main  strength,  (the  windlass  being  broken),  till  she  rode 
nearly  up  and  down  to  the  small  anchor  —  too  small  to 
hold  her  in  any  breeze.  So  I  lowered  the  big  starboard 
anchor,  giving  plenty  of  slack ;  and  by  afternoon  I  was  at 
work  on  the  windlass. 

Three  days  I  worked  on  that  windlass.  Least  of  all 
things  was  I  a  mechanic,  and  in  that  time  I  accomplished 
what  an  ordinary  machinist  would  have  done  in  as  many 
hours.  I  had  to  learn  my  tools  to  begin  with,  and  every 
simple  mechanical  principle  which  such  a  man  would  have 
at  his  finger  ends  I  had  likewise  to  learn.  And  at  the  end 
of  three  days  I  had  a  windlass  which  worked  clumsily.  It 
never  gave  the  satisfaction  the  old  windlass  had  given,  but 
it  worked  and  made  my  work  possible. 

In  half  a  day  I  got  the  two  topmasts  aboard  and  the 
shears  rigged  and  guyed  as  before.  And  that  night  I  slept 
on  board  and  on  deck  beside  my  work.  Maud,  who 
refused  to  stay  alone  ashore,  slept  in  the  forecastle.  Wolf 
Larsen  had  sat  about,  listening  to  my  repairing  the  wind- 
lass and  talking  with  Maud  and  me  upon  indifferent  sub- 
jects. No  reference  was  made  on  either  side  to  the  destruc- 
tion of  the  shears ;  nor  did  he  say  anything  further  about 
my  leaving  his  ship  alone.  But  still  I  had  feared  him,  blind 
and  helpless  and  listening,  always  listening,  and  I  never 
let  his  strong  arms  get  within  reach  of  me  while  I  worked. 


336  THE  SEA-WOLF 

On  this  night,  sleeping  under  my  beloved  shears,  I  was 
aroused  by  his  footsteps  on  the  deck.  It  was  a  starlight 
night,  and  I  could  see  the  bulk  of  him  dimly  as  he  moved 
about.  I  rolled  out  of  my  blankets  and  crept  noiselessly 
after  him  in  my  stocking  feet.  He  had  armed  himself  with 
a  draw-knife  from  the  tool  locker,  and  with  this  he  pre- 
pared to  cut  across  the  throat-halyards  I  had  again  rigged 
to  the  shears.  He  felt  the  halyards  with  his  hands  and 
discovered  that  I  had  not  made  them  fast.  This  would 
not  do  for  a  draw-knife,  so  he  laid  hold  of  the  running 
part,  hove  taut,  and  made  fast.  Then  he  prepared  to  saw 
across  with  the  draw-knife. 

"  I  wouldn't,  if  I  were  you,"  I  said  quietly. 

He  heard  the  click  of  my  pistol  and  laughed. 

"  Hello,  Hump,"  he  said.  "  I  knew  you  were  here  all 
the  time.  You  can't  fool  my  ears." 

"That's  a  lie,  Wolf  Larsen,"  I  said,  just  as  quietly  as 
before.  "  However,  I  am  aching  for  a  chance  to  kill  you, 
so  go  ahead  and  cut." 

"  You  have  the  chance  always,"  he  sneered. 

"  Go  ahead  and  cut,"  I  threatened  ominously. 

"  I'd  rather  disappoint  you,"  he  laughed,  and  turned  on 
his  heel  and  went  aft. 

"  Something  must  be  done,  Humphrey,"  Maud  said,  next 
morning,  when  I  had  told  her  of  the  night's  occurrence. 
"  If  he  has  liberty,  he  may  do  anything.  He  may  sink  the 
vessel,  or  set  fire  to  it.  There  is  no  telling  what  he  may 
do.  We  must  make  him  a  prisoner." 

"  But  how  ? "  I  asked,  with  a  helpless  shrug.  "  I  dare 
not  come  within  reach  of  his  arms,  and  he  knows  that  so 
long  as  his  resistance  is  passive  I  cannot  shoot  him." 

"There  must  be  some  way,"  she  contended.  "Let  me 
think." 


THE  SEA-WOLF  337 

"There  is  one  way,"  I  said  grimly. 

She  waited. 

I  picked  up  a  seal-club. 

"  It  won't  kill  him,"  I  said.  "  And  before  he  could  re- 
cover I'd  have  him  bound  hard  and  fast." 

She  shook  her  head  with  a  shudder.  "No,  not  that. 
There  must  be  some  less  brutal  way.  Let  us  wait." 

But  we  did  not  have  to  wait  long,  and  the  problem 
solved  itself.  In  the  morning,  after  several  trials,  I  found 
the  point  of  balance  in  the  foremast  and  attached  my 
hoisting  tackle  a  few  feet  above  it.  Maud  held  the  turn 
on  the  windlass  and  coiled  down  while  I  heaved.  Had  the 
windlass  been  in  order  it  would  not  have  been  so  difficult ; 
as  it  was,  I  was  compelled  to  apply  all  my  weight  and 
strength  to  every  inch  of  the  heaving.  I  had  to  rest  fre- 
quently. In  truth,  my  spells  of  resting  were  longer  than 
those  of  working.  Maud  even  contrived,  at  times  when  all 
my  efforts  could  not  budge  the  windlass,  to  hold  the  turn 
with  one  hand  and  with  the  other  to  throw  the  weight  of 
her  slim  body  to  my  assistance. 

At  the  end  of  an  hour  the  single  and  double  blocks 
came  together  at  the  top  of  the  shears.  I  could  hoist  no 
more.  And  yet  the  mast  was  not  swung  entirely  inboard. 
The  butt  rested  against  the  outside  of  the  port  rail,  while 
the  top  of  the  mast  overhung  the  water  far  beyond  the 
starboard  rail.  My  shears  were  too  short.  All  my  work 
had  been  for  nothing.  But  I  no  longer  despaired  in  the 
old  way.  I  was  acquiring  more  confidence  in  myself  and 
more  confidence  in  the  possibilities  of  windlasses,  shears, 
and  hoisting  tackles.  There  was  a  way  in  which  it  could 
be  done,  and  it  remained  for  me  to  find  that  way. 

While  I  was  considering  the  problem,  Wolf  Larsen  came 
on  deck.  We  noticed  something  strange  about  him  at 


338  THE   SEA-WOLF 

once.  The  indecisiveness,  or  feebleness,  of  his  movements 
was  more  pronounced.  His  walk  was  actually  tottery  as 
he  came  down  the  port  side  of  the  cabin.  At  the  break 
of  the  poop  he  reeled,  raised  one  hand  to  his  eyes  with  the 
familiar  brushing  gesture,  and  fell  down  the  steps  —  still 
on  his  feet  —  to  the  main  deck,  across  which  he  staggered, 
falling  and  flinging  out  his  arms  for  support.  He  regained 
his  balance  by  the  steerage  companionway  and  stood  there 
dizzily  for  a  space,  when  he  suddenly  crumpled  up  and 
collapsed,  his  legs  bending  under  him  as  he  sank  to  the 
deck. 

"  One  of  his  attacks,"  I  whispered  to  Maud. 

She  nodded  her  head ;  and  I  could  see  sympathy  warm 
in  her  eyes. 

We  went  up  to  him,  but  he  seemed  unconscious,  breath- 
ing spasmodically.  She  took  charge  of  him,  lifting  his 
head  to  keep  the  blood  out  of  it  and  despatching  me  to 
the  cabin  for  a  pillow.  I  also  brought  blankets,  and  we 
made  him  comfortable.  I  took  his  pulse.  It  beat  steadily 
and  strong,  and  was  quite  normal.  This  puzzled  me.  I 
became  suspicious. 

"  What  if  he  should  be  feigning  this  ? "  I  asked,  still 
holding  his  wrist. 

Maud  shook  her  head,  and  there  was  reproof  in  her  eyes. 
But  just  then  the  wrist  I  held  leaped  from  my  hand,  and  the 
hand  clasped  like  a  steel  trap  about  my  wrist.  I  cried 
aloud  in  awful  fear,  a  wild  inarticulate  cry;  and  I  caught 
one  glimpse  of  his  face,  malignant  and  triumphant,  as  his 
other  hand  compassed  my  body  and  I  was  drawn  down  to 
him  in  a  terrible  grip. 

My  wrist  was  released,  but  his  other  arm,  passed  around 
my  back,  held  both  my  arms  so  that  I  could  not  move. 
His  free  hand  went  to  my  throat,  and  in  that  moment  I 


THE  SEA-WOLF  339 

knew  the  bitterest  foretaste  of  death  earned  by  one's  own 
idiocy.  Why  had  I  trusted  myself  within  reach  of  those 
terrible  arms?  I  could  feel  other  hands  at  my  throat. 
They  were  Maud's  hands,  striving  vainly  to  tear  loose  the 
hand  that  was  throttling  me.  She  gave  it  up,  and  I  heard 
her  scream  in  a  way  that  cut  me  to  the  soul,  for  it  was 
a  woman's  scream  of  fear  and  heart-breaking  despair. 
I  had  heard  it  before,  during  the  sinking  of  the  Martinez. 

My  face  was  against  his  chest  and  I  could  not  see,  but 
I  heard  Maud  turn  and  run  swiftly  away  along  the  deck. 
Everything  was  happening  quickly.  I  had  not  yet  had  a 
glimmering  of  unconsciousness,  and  it  seemed  that  an 
interminable  period  of  time  was  lapsing  before  I  heard  her 
feet  flying  back.  And  just  then  I  felt  the  whole  man 
sink  under  me.  The  breath  was  leaving  his  lungs  and 
his  chest  was  collapsing  under  my  weight.  Whether  it 
was  merely  the  expelled  breath,  or  his  consciousness  of  his 
growing  impotence,  I  know  not,  but  his  throat  vibrated 
with  a  deep  groan.  The  hand  at  my  throat  relaxed.  I 
breathed.  It  fluttered  and  tightened  again.  But  even  his 
tremendous  will  could  not  overcome  the  dissolution  that 
assailed  it.  That  will  of  his  was  breaking  down.  He  was 
fainting. 

Maud's  footsteps  were  very  near  as  his  hand  fluttered 
for  the  last  time  and  my  throat  was  released.  I  rolled  off 
and  over  to  the  deck  on  my  back,  gasping  and  blinking 
in  the  sunshine.  Maud  was  pale  but  composed,  —  my  eyes 
had  gone  instantly  to  her  face,  —  and  she  was  looking  at 
me  with  mingled  alarm  and  relief.  A  heavy  seal-club  in 
her  hand  caught  my  eyes,  and  at  that  moment  she  followed 
my  gaze  down  to  it.  The  club  dropped  from  her  hand  as 
though  it  had  suddenly  stung  her,  and  at  the  same  moment 
my  heart  surged  with  a  great  joy.  Truly  she  was  my 


340  THE  SEA-WOLF 

woman,  my  mate-woman,  fighting  with  me  and  for  me  as 
the  mate  of  a  caveman  would  have  fought,  all  the  primitive 
in  her  aroused,  forgetful  of  her  culture,  hard  under  the 
softening  civilization  of  the  only  life  she  had  ever 
known. 

"  Dear  woman !  "  I  cried,  scrambling  to  my  feet. 

The  next  moment  she  was  in  my  arms,  weeping  convul- 
sively on  my  shoulder  while  I  clasped  her  close.  I  looked 
down  at  the  brown  glory  of  her  hair,  glinting  gems  in  the 
sunshine  far  more  precious  to  me  than  those  in  the  treas- 
ure-chests of  kings.  And  I  bent  my  head  and  kissed  her 
hair  softly,  so  softly  that  she  did  not  know. 

Then  sober  thought  came  to  me.  After  all,  she  was 
only  a  woman,  crying  her  relief,  now  that  the  danger  was 
past,  in  the  arms  of  her  protector  or  of  the  one  who  had 
been  endangered.  Had  I  been  father  or  brother,  the  situ- 
ation would  have  been  in  no  wise  different.  Besides,  time 
and  place  were  not  meet,  and  I  wished  to  earn  a  better 
right  to  declare  my  love.  So  once  again  I  softly  kissed 
her  hair  as  I  felt  her  receding  from  my  clasp. 

"  It  was  a  real  attack  this  time,"  I  said ;  "  another  shock 
like  the  one  that  made  him  blind.  He  feigned  at  first,  and 
in  doing  so  brought  it  on." 

Maud  was  already  rearranging  his  pillow. 

"  No,"  I  said,  "  not  yet.  Now  that  I  have  him  helpless, 
helpless  he  shall  remain.  From  this  day  we  live  in  the 
cabin.  Wolf  Larsen  shall  live  in  the  steerage." 

I  caught  him  under  the  shoulders  and  dragged  him  to 
the  companionway.  At  my  direction  Maud  fetched  a  rope. 
Placing  this  under  his  shoulders,  I  balanced  him  across  the 
threshold  and  lowered  him  down  the  steps  to  the  floor.  I 
could  not  lift  him  directly  into  a  bunk,  but  with  Maud's 
help  I  lifted  first  his  shoulders  and  head,  then  his  body, 


THE   SEA-WOLF  341 

balanced  him  across  the  edge,  and  rolled  him  into  a  lower 
bunk. 

But  this  was  not  to  be  all.  I  recollected  the  handcuffs 
in  his  stateroom,  which  he  preferred  to  use  on  sailors  in- 
stead of  the  ancient  and  clumsy  ship  irons.  So,  when  we 
left  him,  he  lay  handcuffed  hand  and  foot.  For  the  first 
time  in  many  days  I  breathed  freely.  I  felt  strangely  light 
as  I  came  on  deck,  as  though  a  weight  had  been  lifted  from 
my  shoulders.  I  felt,  also,  that  Maud  and  I  had  [drawn 
more  closely  together.  And  I  wondered  if  she,  too,  felt  it, 
as  we  walked  along  the  deck  side  by  side  to  where  the 
stalled  foremast  hung  in  the  shears. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

AT  once  we  moved  aboard  the  Ghost,  occupying  our  old 
state-rooms  and  cooking  in  the  galley.  The  imprisonment 
of  Wolf  Larsen  had  happened  most  opportunely,  for  what 
must  have  been  the  Indian  summer  of  this  high  latitude 
was  gone  and  drizzling  stormy  weather  had  set  in.  We 
were  very  comfortable,  and  the  inadequate  shears,  with  the 
foremast  suspended  from  them,  gave  a  businesslike  air  to 
the  schooner  and  a  promise  of  departure. 

And  now  that  we  had  Wolf  Larsen  in  irons,  how  little 
did  we  need  it !  Like  his  first  attack,  his  second  had  been 
accompanied  by  serious  disablement.  Maud  made  the  dis- 
covery in  the  afternoon  while  trying  to  give  him  nourish- 
ment. He  had  shown  signs  of  consciousness,  and  she  had 
spoken  to  him,  eliciting  no  response.  He  was  lying  on  his 
left  side  at  the  time,  and  in  evident  pain.  With  a  restless 
movement  he  rolled  his  head  around,  clearing  his  left  ear 
from  the  pillow  against  which  it  had  been  pressed.  At 
once  he  heard  and  answered  her,  and  at  once  she  came 
to  me. 

Pressing  the  pillow  against  his  left  ear,  I  asked  him  if  he 
heard  me,  but  he  gave  no  sign.  Removing  the  pillow  and 
repeating  the  question,  he  answered  promptly  that  he  did. 

"  Do  you  know  you  are  deaf  in  the  right  ear  ? "  I  asked. 

"Yes,"  he  answered  in  a  low,  strong  voice,  "and  worse 
than  that.  My  whole  right  side  is  affected.  It  seems 
asleep.  I  cannot  move  arm  or  leg." 

"  Feigning  again  ? "  I  demanded  angrily. 

342 


THE  SEA-WOLF  343 

He  shook  his  head,  his  stern  mouth  shaping  the  strang- 
est, twisted  smile.  It  was  indeed  a  twisted  smile,  for  it 
was  on  the  left  side  only,  the  facial  muscles  of  the  right 
side  moving  not  at  all. 

"  That  was  the  last  play  of  the  Wolf,"  he  said.  "  I 
am  paralyzed.  I  shall  never  walk  again.  Oh,  only  on  the 
other  side,"  he  added,  as  though  divining  the  suspicious 
glance  I  flung  at  his  left  leg,  the  knee  of  which  had  just 
then  drawn  up  and  elevated  the  blankets. 

"It's  unfortunate,"  he  continued.  "  I'd  liked  to  have 
done  for  you  first,  Hump.  And  I  thought  I  had  that  much 
left  in  me." 

"But  why?"  I  asked,  partly  in  horror,  partly  out  of 
curiosity. 

Again  his  stern  mouth  framed  the  twisted  smile,  as  he 
said : 

"  Oh,  just  to  be  alive,  to  be  living  and  doing,  to  be  the 
biggest  bit  of  the  ferment  to  the  end,  to  eat  you.  But  to 
die  this  way " 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  or  attempted  to  shrug  them, 
rather,  for  the  left  shoulder  alone  moved.  Like  the  smile, 
the  shrug  was  twisted. 

"  But  how  can  you  account  for  it  ? "  I  asked.  "  Where 
is  the  seat  of  your  trouble  ? " 

"  The  brain,"  he  said  at  once.  "  It  was  those  cursed 
headaches  brought  it  on." 

"Symptoms,"  I  said. 

He  nodded  his  head.  "  There  is  no  accounting  for  it. 
I  was  never  sick  in  my  life.  Something's  gone  wrong  with 
my  brain.  A  cancer,  a  tumor,  or  something  of  that  nature, 
—  a  thing  that  devours  and  destroys.  It's  attacking  my 
nerve-centres,  eating  them  up,  bit  by  bit,  cell  by  cell  — 
from  the  pain." 


344  THE  SEA-WOLF 

"  The  motor-centres,  too,"  I  suggested. 

"  So  it  would  seem ;  and  the  curse  of  it  is  that  I  must  lie 
here,  conscious,  mentally  unimpaired,  knowing  that  the 
lines  are  going  down,  breaking  bit  by  bit  communication 
with  the  world.  I  cannot  see,  hearing  and  feeling  are 
leaving  me,  at  this  rate  I  shall  soon  cease  to  speak ;  yet 
all  the  time  I  shall  be  here,  alive,  active,  and  powerless." 

"When  you  say  you  are  here,  I'd  suggest  the  likelihood 
of  the  soul,"  I  said. 

"  Bosh  ! "  was  his  retort.  "  It  simply  means  that  in  the 
attack  on  my  brain  the  higher  psychical  centres  are  un- 
touched. I  can  remember,  I  can  think  and  reason.  When 
that  goes,  I  go.  I  am  not.  The  soul  ? " 

He  broke  out  in  mocking  laughter,  then  turned  his  left 
ear  to  the  pillow  as  a  sign  that  he  wished  no  further 
conversation. 

Maud  and  I  went  about  our  work  oppressed  by  the  fearful 
fate  which  had  overtaken  him,  —  how  fearful  we  were  yet 
fully  to  realize.  There  was  the  awfulness  of  retribution 
about  it.  Our  thoughts  were  deep  and  solemn,  and  we 
spoke  to  each  other  scarcely  above  whispers. 

"You  might  remove  the  handcuffs,"  he  said  that  night,v 
as  we  stood  in  consultation  over  him.  "  It's  dead  safe. 
I'm  a  paralytic  now.  The  next  thing  to  watch  out  for  is 
bed  sores." 

He  smiled  his  twisted  smile,  and  Maud,  her  eyes  wide 
with  horror,  was  compelled  to  turn  away  her  head. 

"Do  you  know  that  your  smile  is  crooked?"  I  asked 
him ;  for  I  knew  that  she  must  attend  him,  and  I  wished 
to  save  her  as  much  as  possible. 

"Then  I  shall  smile  no  more,"  he  said  calmly.  "I 
thought  something  was  wrong.  My  right  cheek  has  been 
numb  all  day.  Yes,  and  I've  had  warnings  of  this  for  the 


THE  SEA-WOLF  345 

last  three  days ;  by  spells,  my  right  side  seemed  going  to 
sleep,  sometimes  arm  or  hand,  sometimes  leg  or  foot." 

"  So  my  smile  is  crooked  ? "  he  queried  a  short  while 
after.  "Well,  consider  henceforth  that  I  smile  internally, 
with  my  soul,  if  you  please,  my  soul.  Consider  that  I  am 
smiling  now." 

And  for  the  space  of  several  minutes  he  lay  there,  quiet, 
indulging  his  grotesque  fancy. 

The  man  of  him  was  not  changed.  It  was  the  old,  in- 
domitable, terrible  Wolf  Larsen,  imprisoned  somewhere 
within  that  flesh  which  had  once  been  so  invincible  and 
splendid.  Now  it  bound  him  with  insentient  fetters,  wall- 
ing his  soul  in  darkness  and  silence,  blocking  it  from  the 
world  which  to  him  had  been  a  riot  of  action.  No  more 
would  he  conjugate  the  verb  "to  do"  in  every  mood  and 
tense.  "To  be"  was  all  that  remained  to  him  —  to  be, 
as  he  had  defined  death,  without  movement ;  to  will,  but 
not  to  execute ;  to  think  and  reason  and  in  the  spirit  of  him 
to  be  as  alive  as  ever,  but  in  the  flesh  to  be  dead,  quite 
dead. 

And  yet,  though  I  even  removed  the  handcuffs,  we 
could  not  adjust  ourselves  to  his  condition.  Our  minds  re- 
volted. To  us  he  was  full  of  potentiality.  We  knew  not 
what  to  expect  of  him  next,  what  fearful  thing,  rising  above 
the  flesh,  he  might  break  out  and  do.  Our  experience 
warranted  this  state  of  mind,  and  we  went  about  our  work 
with  anxiety  always  upon  us. 

I  had  solved  the  problem  which  had  arisen  through  the 
shortness  of  the  shears.  By  means  of  the  watch-tackle, 
(I  had  made  a  new  one),  I  heaved  the  butt  of  the  foremast 
across  the  rail  and  then  lowered  it  to  the  deck.  Next,  by 
means  of  the  shears,  I  hoisted  the  main  boom  on  board. 
Its  forty  feet  of  length  would  supply  the  height  necessary 


346  THE   SEA-WOLF 

properly  to  swing  the  mast.  By  means  of  a  secondary  tackle 
I  had  attached  to  the  shears,  I  swung  the  boom  to  a  nearly 
perpendicular  position,  then  lowered  the  butt  to  the  deck, 
where,  to  prevent  slipping,  I  spiked  great  cleats  around  it. 
The  single  block  of  my  original  shears-tackle  I  had  attached 
to  the  end  of  the  boom.  Thus,  by  carrying  this  tackle  to 
the  windlass,  I  could  raise  and  lower  the  end  of  the  boom 
at  will,  the  butt  always  remaining  stationary,  and,  by  means 
of  guys,  I  could  swing  the  boom  from  side  to  side.  To  the 
end  of  the  boom  I  had  likewise  rigged  a  hoisting  tackle ; 
and  when  the  whole  arrangement  was  completed  I  could 
not  but  be  startled  by  the  power  and  latitude  it  gave  me. 

Of  course,  two  days'  work  was  required  for  the  accom- 
plishment of  this  part  of  my  task,  and  it  was  not  till  the 
morning  of  the  third  day  that  I  swung  the  foremast  from 
the  deck  and  proceeded  to  square  its  butt  to  fit  the  step. 
Here  I  was  especially  awkward.  I  sawed  and  chopped 
and  chiselled  the  weathered  wood  till  it  had  the  appearance 
of  having  been  gnawed  by  some  gigantic  mouse.  But  it 
fitted. 

"  It  will  work,  I  know  it  will  work,"  I  cried. 

"  Do  you  know  Dr.  Jordan's  final  test  of  truth  ? "  Maud 
asked. 

I  shook  my  head  and  paused  in  the  act  of  dislodging  the 
shavings  which  had  drifted  down  my  neck. 

"  '  Can  we  make  it  work  ?  Can  we  trust  our  lives  to  it  ?' 
is  the  test." 

"  He  is  a  favorite  of  yours,"  I  said. 

"When  I  dismantled  my  old  Pantheon  and  cast  out 
Napoleon  and  Caesar  and  their  fellows,  I  straightway 
erected  a  new  Pantheon,"  she  answered  gravely,  "  and  the 
first  I  installed  was  Dr.  Jordan," 

"  A  modern  hero." 


THE  SEA-WOLF  347 

"  And  a  greater  because  modern,"  she  added.  "  How 
can  the  Old  World  heroes  compare  with  ours  !  " 

I  shook  my  head.  We  were  too  much  alike  in  many 
things  for  argument.  Our  points  of  view  and  outlook  on 
life  at  least  were  very  like. 

"  For  a  pair  of  critics  we  agree  famously,"  I  laughed. 

"And  as  shipwright  and  able  assistant,"  she  laughed 
back. 

But  there  was  little  time  for  laughter  in  those  days,  what 
of  our  heavy  work  and  of  the  awf  ulness  of  Wolf  Larsen's 
living  death. 

He  had  received  another  stroke.  He  had  lost  his  voice, 
or  he  was  losing  it.  He  had  only  intermittent  use  of  it. 
As  he  phrased  it,  the  wires  were  like  the  stock  market,  now 
up,  now  down.  Occasionally  the  wires  were  up  and  he 
spoke  as  well  as  ever,  though  slowly  and  heavily.  Then 
speech  would  suddenly  desert  him,  in  the  middle  of  a  sen- 
tence perhaps,  and  for  hours,  sometimes,  we  would  wait 
for  the  connection  to  be  reestablished.  He  complained  of 
great  pain  in  his  head,  and  it  was  during  this  period  that 
he  arranged  a  system  of  communication  against  the  time 
when  speech  should  leave  him  altogether  —  one  pressure 
of  the  hand  for  "yes,"  two  for  "no."  It  was  well  that 
it  was  arranged,  for  by  evening  his  voice  had  gone  from 
him.  By  hand  pressures,  after  that,  he  answered  our 
questions,  and  when  he  wished  to  speak  he  scrawled 
his  thoughts  with  his  left  hand,  quite  legibly,  on  a  sheet 
of  paper. 

The  fierce  winter  had  now  descended  upon  us.  Gale 
followed  gale,  with  snow  and  sleet  and  rain.  The  seals 
had  started  on  their  great  southern  migration,  and  the 
rookery  was  practically  deserted.  I  worked  feverishly. 
In  spite  of  the  bad  weather,  and  of  the  wind  which  espe- 


348  THE  SEA-WOLF 

daily  hindered  me,  I  was  on  deck  from  daylight  till  dark 
and  making  substantial  progress. 

I  profited  by  my  lesson  learned  through  raising  the 
shears  and  then  climbing  them  to  attach  the  guys.  To 
the  top  of  the  foremast,  which  was  just  lifted  conveniently 
from  the  deck,  I  attached  the  rigging,  stays,  and  throat 
and  peak  halyards.  As  usual,  I  had  underrated  the 
amount  of  work  involved  in  this  portion  of  the  task,  and 
two  long  days  were  necessary  to  complete  it.  And  there 
was  so  much  yet  to  be  done  —  the  sails,  for  instance,  which 
practically  had  to  be  made  over. 

While  I  toiled  at  rigging  the  foremast,  Maud  sewed  on 
canvas,  ready  always  to  drop  everything  and  come  to  my 
assistance  when  more  hands  than  two  were  required.  The 
canvas  was  heavy  and  hard,  and  she  sewed  with  the  regular 
sailor's  palm  and  three-cornered  sail-needle.  Her  hands 
were  soon  sadly  blistered,  but  she  struggled  bravely  on, 
and  in  addition  doing  the  cooking  and  taking  care  of  the 
sick  man. 

"A  fig  for  superstition,"  I  said  on  Friday  morning. 
"  That  mast  goes  in  to-day." 

Everything  was  ready  for  the  attempt.  Carrying  the 
boom-tackle  to  the  windlass,  I  hoisted  the  mast  nearly 
clear  of  the  deck.  Making  this  tackle  fast,  I  took  to  the 
windlass  the  shears-tackle,  (which  was  connected  with  the 
end  of  the  boom),  and  with  a  few  turns  had  the  mast  per- 
pendicular and  clear. 

Maud  clapped  her  hands  the  instant  she  was  relieved 
from  holding  the  turn,  crying : 

"  It  works  !     It  works  !    We'll  trust  our  lives  to  it ! " 

Then  she  assumed  a  rueful  expression. 

"  It's  not  over  the  hole/'  she  said.  "  Will  you  have  to 
begin  all  over  ?  " 


THE  SEA-WOLF  349 

I  smiled  in  superior  fashion,  and,  slacking  off  on  one  of 
the  boom-guys  and  taking  in  on  the  other,  swung  the  mast 
perfectly  in  the  centre  of  the  deck.  Still  it  was  not  over 
the  hole.  Again  the  rueful  expression  came  on  her  face, 
and  again  I  smiled  in  a  superior  way.  Slacking  away  on 
the  boom-tackle  and  hoisting  an  equivalent  amount  on  the 
shears-tackle,  I  brought  the  butt  of  the  mast  into  position 
directly  over  the  hole  in  the  deck.  Then  I  gave  Maud 
careful  instructions  for  lowering  away  and  went  into  the 
hold  to  the  step  on  the  schooner's  bottom. 

I  called  to  her,  and  the  mast  moved  easily  and  accurately. 
Straight  toward  the  square  hole  of  the  step  the  square  butt 
descended ;  but  as  it  descended  it  slowly  twisted  so  that 
square  would  not  fit  into  square.  But  I  had  not  even  a 
moment's  indecision.  Calling  to  Maud  to  cease  lowering, 
I  went  on  deck  and  made  the  watch-tackle  fast  to  the  mast 
with  a  rolling  hitch.  I  left  Maud  to  pull  on  it  while  I  went 
below.  By  the  light  of  the  lantern  I  saw  the  butt  twist 
slowly  around  till  its  sides  coincided  with  the  sides  of  the 
step.  Maud  made  fast  and  returned  to  the  windlass. 
Slowly  the  butt  descended  the  several  intervening  inches, 
at  the  same  time  slightly  twisting  again.  Again  Maud 
rectified  the  twist  with  the  watch-tackle,  and  again  she 
lowered  away  from  the  windlass.  Square  fitted  into  square. 
The  mast  was  stepped. 

I  raised  a  shout,  and  she  ran  down  to  see.  In  the  yellow 
lantern  light  we  peered  at  what  we  had  accomplished.  We 
looked  at  each  other,  and  our  hands  felt  their  way  and 
clasped.  The  eyes  of  both  us,  I  think,  were  moist  with  the 
joy  of  success. 

"It  was  done  so  easily  after  all,"  I  remarked.  "All 
the  work  was  in  the  preparation." 

"  And  all  the  wonder  in  the  completion,"  Maud  added. 


350  THE  SEA-WOLF 

"I  can  scarcely  bring  myself  to  realize  that  that  great 
mast  is  really  up  and  in ;  that  you  have  lifted  it  from  the 
water,  swung  it  through  the  air,  and  deposited  it  here 
where  it  belongs.  It  is  a  Titan's  task." 

"  And  they  made  themselves  many  inventions,"  I  began 
merrily,  then  paused  to  sniff  the  air. 

I  looked  hastily  at  the  lantern.  It  was  not  smoking. 
Again  I  sniffed. 

"Something  is  burning,"  Maud  said,  with  sudden 
conviction. 

We  sprang  together  for  the  ladder,  but  I  raced  past 
her  to  the  deck.  A  dense  volume  of  smoke  was  pouring 
out  of  the  steerage  companionway. 

"The  Wolf  is  not  yet  dead,"  I  muttered  to  myself  as 
I  sprang  down  through  the  smoke. 

It  was  so  thick  in  the  confined  space  that  I  was  com- 
pelled to  feel  my  way ;  and  so  potent  was  the  spell  of  Wolf 
Larsen  on  my  imagination,  I  was  quite  prepared  for  the 
helpless  giant  to  grip  my  neck  in  a  strangle  hold.  I  hesi- 
tated, the  desire  to  race  back  and  up  the  steps  to  the 
deck  almost  overpowering  me.  Then  I  recollected  Maud. 
The  vision  of  her,  as  I  had  last  seen  her,  in  the  lantern 
light  of  the  schooner's  hold,  her  brown  eyes  warm  and 
moist  with  joy,  flashed  before  me,  and  I  knew  that  I 
could  not  go  back. 

I  was  choking  and  suffocating  by  the  time  I  reached 
Wolf  Larsen's  bunk.  I  reached  my  hand  and  felt  for 
his.  He  was  lying  motionless,  but  moved  slightly  at  the 
touch  of  my  hand.  I  felt  over  and  under  his  blankets. 
There  was  no  warmth,  no  sign  of  fire.  Yet  that  smoke 
which  blinded  me  and  made  me  cough  and  gasp  must 
have  a  source.  I  lost  my  head  temporarily  and  dashed 
frantically  about  the  steerage.  A  collision  with  the  table 


THE  SEA-WOLF  351 

partially  knocked  the  wind  from  my  body  and  brought 
me  to  myself.  1  reasoned  that  a  helpless  man  could  start 
a  fire  only  near  to  where  he  lay. 

I  returned  to  Wolf  Larsen's  bunk.  There  I  encoun- 
tered Maud.  How  long  she  had  been  there  in  that  suffo- 
cating atmosphere  I  could  not  guess. 

"  Go  up  on  deck !  "  1  commanded  peremptorily. 

"But,  Humphrey  — "  she  began  to  protest  in  a  queer, 
husky  voice. 

"  Please !  please ! "  I  shouted  at  her  harshly. 

She  drew  away  obediently,  and  then  I  thought,  What 
if  she  cannot  find  the  steps  ?  I  started  after  her,  to  stop 
at  the  foot  of  the  companionway.  Perhaps  she  had  gone 
up.  As  I  stood  there,  hesitant,  I  heard  her  cry  softly :  — 

"  Oh,  Humphrey,  I  am  lost." 

I  found  her  fumbling  at  the  wall  of  the  after  bulkhead, 
and,  half  leading  her,  half  carrying  her,  I  took  her  up  the 
companionway.  The  pure  air  was  like  nectar.  Maud 
was  only  faint  and  dizzy,  and  I  left  her  lying  on  the 
deck  when  I  took  my  second  plunge  below. 

The  source  of  the  smoke  must  be  very  close  to  Wolf 
Larsen  —  my  mind  was  made  up  to  this,  and  I  went 
straight  to  his  bunk.  As  I  felt  about  among  his  blankets, 
something  hot  fell  on  the  back  of  my  hand.  It  burned 
me,  and  I  jerked  my  hand  away.  Then  I  understood. 
Through  the  cracks  in  the  bottom  of  the  upper  bunk  he 
had  set  fire  to  the  mattress.  He  still  retained  sufficient 
use  of  his  left  arm  to  do  this.  The  damp  straw  of  the 
mattress,  fired  from  beneath  and  denied  air,  had  been 
smouldering  all  the  while. 

As  I  dragged  the  mattress  out  of  the  bunk  it  seemed 
to  disintegrate  in  mid-air,  at  the  same  time  bursting 
into  flames.  I  beat  out  the  burning  remnants  of  straw 


352  THE  SEA- WOLF 

in  the  bunk,  then  made  a  dash  for  the  deck  for  fresh 
air. 

Several  buckets  of  water  sufficed  to  put  out  the  burning 
mattress  in  the  middle  of  the  steerage  floor ;  and  ten  min- 
utes later,  when  the  smoke  had  fairly  cleared,  I  allowed 
Maud  to  come  below.  Wolf  Larsen  was  unconscious,  but 
it  was  a  matter  of  minutes  for  the  fresh  air  to  restore  him. 
We  were  working  over  him,  however,  when  he  signed  for 
paper  and  pencil. 

"  Pray  do  not  interrupt  me/'  he  wrote.    "  I  am  smiling/1 

"  I  am  still  a  bit  of  the  ferment,  you  see,"  he  wrote  a 
little  later. 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  as  small  a  bit  as  you  are,"  I  said. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  wrote.  "  But  just  think  of  how  much 
smaller  I  shall  be  before  I  die." 

"  And  yet  I  am  all  here,  Hump,"  he  wrote  with  a  final 
flourish.  "  I  can  think  more  clearly  than  ever  in  my  life 
before.  Nothing  to  disturb  me.  Concentration  is  perfect 
I  am  all  here  and  more  than  here." 

It  was  like  a  message  from  the  night  of  the  grave ;  for 
this  man's  body  had  become  his  mausoleum.  And  there, 
in  so  strange  sepulture,  his  spirit  fluttered  and  lived.  It 
would  flutter  and  live  till  the  last  line  of  communication 
was  broken,  and  after  that  who  was  to  say  how  much 
longer  it  might  continue  to  flutter  and  live? 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

"  I  THINK  my  left  side  is  going,"  Wolf  Larsen  wrote,  the 
morning  after  his  attempt  to  fire  the  ship.  "  The  numb- 
ness is  growing.  I  can  hardly  move  my  hand.  You  will 
have  to  speak  louder.  The  last  lines  are  going  down." 

"  Are  you  in  pain  ? "  I  asked. 

I  was  compelled  to  repeat  my  question  loudly  before  he 
answered. 

"Not  all  the  time." 

The  left  hand  stumbled  slowly  and  painfully  across  the 
paper,  and  it  was  with  extreme  difficulty  that  we  deciphered 
the  scrawl.  It  was  like  a  "  spirit  message,"  such  as  are 
delivered  at  stances  of  spiritualists  for  a  dollar  admission. 

"  But  I  am  still  here,  all  here,"  the  hand  scrawled  more 
slowly  and  painfully  than  ever. 

The  pencil  dropped,  and  we  had  to  replace  it  in  the 
hand. 

"  When  there  is  no  pain  I  have  perfect  peace  and  quiet. 
I  have  never  thought  so  clearly.  I  can  ponder  life  and 
death  like  a  Hindoo  sage." 

"  And  immortality  ? "  Maud  queried  loudly  in  the  ear. 

Three  times  the  hand  essayed  to  write  but  fumbled 
hopelessly.  The  pencil  fell.  In  vain  we  tried  to  replace 
it.  The  fingers  could  not  close  on  it.  Then  Maud  pressed 
and  held  the  fingers  about  the  pencil  with  her  own  hand, 
and  the  hand  wrote,  in  large  letters,  and  so  slowly  that  the 
minutes  ticked  off  to  each  letter : 
2  A  353 


354  THE  SEA-WOLF 

«  B-O-S-H." 

It  was  Wolf  Larsen's  last  word,  "bosh,"  sceptical  and 
invincible  to  the  end.  The  arm  and  hand  relaxed.  The 
trunk  of  the  body  moved  slightly.  Then  there  was  no 
movement.  Maud  released  the  hand.  The  fingers  spread 
slightly,  falling  apart  of  their  own  weight,  and  the  pencil 
rolled  away. 

"  Do  you  still  hear  ? "  I  shouted,  holding  the  fingers  and 
waiting  for  the  single  pressure  which  would  signify  "  Yes." 
There  was  no  response.  The  hand  was  dead. 

"  I  noticed  the  lips  slightly  move,"  Maud  said. 

I  repeated  the  question.  The  lips  moved.  She  placed 
the  tips  of  her  fingers  on  them.  Again  I  repeated  the 
question.  "  Yes,"  Maud  announced.  We  looked  at  each 
other  expectantly. 

"What  good  is  it?"  I  asked.  "What  can  we  say 
now?" 

"Oh,  ask  him  —  " 

She  hesitated. 

"Ask  him  something  that  requires  'no*  for  an  answer," 
I  suggested.  "  Then  we  will  know  with  certainty." 

"  Are  you  hungry  ? "  she  cried. 

The  lips  moved  under  her  fingers,  and  she  answered, 
"Yes." 

"  Will  you  have  some  beef  ? "  was  her  next  query. 

"  No,"  she  announced. 

"Beef-tea?" 

"Yes,  he  will  have  some  beef -tea,"  she  said  quietly, 
looking  up  at  me.  "  Until  his  hearing  goes  we  shall  be 
able  to  communicate  with  him.  And  after  that  —  " 

She  looked  at  me  queerly.  I  saw  her  lips  trembling 
and  the  tears  swimming  up  in  her  eyes.  She  swayed 
toward  me  and  I  caught  her  in  my  arms. 


THE  SEA-WOLF  355 

"Oh,  Humphrey,"  she  sobbed,  "when  will  it  all  end? 
I  am  so  tired,  so  tired." 

She  buried  her  head  on  my  shoulder,  her  frail  form 
shaken  with  a  storm  of  weeping.  She  was  like  a  feather 
in  my  arms,  so  slender,  so  ethereal.  "She  has  broken 
down  at  last,"  I  thought.  "What  can  I  do  without  her 
help  ? " 

But  I  soothed  and  comforted  her,  till  she  pulled  herself 
bravely  together  and  recuperated  mentally  as  quickly  as 
she  was  wont  to  do  physically. 

"I  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  myself,"  she  said.  Then 
added,  with  the  whimsical  smile  I  adored,  "  but  I  am  only 
one  small  woman." 

That  phrase,  the  "  one  small  woman,"  startled  me  like 
an  electric  shock.  It  was  my  own  phrase,  my  pet,  secret 
phrase,  my  love  phrase  for  her. 

"  Where  did  you  get  that  phrase  ? "  I  demanded,  with 
an  abruptness  that  in  turn  startled  her. 

"  What  phrase  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  One  small  woman." 

"  Is  it  yours  ? "  she  asked. 

"  Yes,"  I  answered,  "  mine.     I  made  it." 

"  Then  you  must  have  talked  in  your  sleep,"  she  smiled. 

The  dancing,  tremulous  light  was  in  her  eyes.  Mine,  I 
knew,  were  speaking  beyond  the  will  of  my  speech.  I 
leaned  toward  her.  Without  volition  I  leaned  toward  her, 
as  a  tree  is  swayed  by  the  wind.  Ah,  we  were  very  close 
together  in  that  moment.  But  she  shook  her  head,  as 
one  might  shake  off  sleep  or  a  dream,  saying  : 

"  I  have  known  it  all  my  life.  It  was  my  father's  name 
for  my  mother." 

"  It  is  my  phrase,  too,"  I  said  stubbornly. 

"  For  your  mother  ? " 


3$6  THE  SEA-WOLF 

"  No,"  I  answered,  and  she  questioned  no  further,  though 
I  could  have  sworn  her  eyes  retained  for  some  time  a  mock- 
ing, teasing  expression. 

With  the  foremast  in,  the  work  now  went  on  apace. 
Almost  before  I  knew  it,  and  without  one  serious  hitch,  I 
had  the  mainmast  stepped.  A  derrick-boom,  rigged  to  the 
foremast,  had  accomplished  this;  and  several  days  more 
found  all  stays  and  shrouds  in  place,  and  everything  set 
up  taut.  Topsails  would  be  a  nuisance  and  a  danger  for 
a  crew  of  two,  so  I  heaved  the  topmasts  on  deck  and  lashed 
them  fast. 

Several  more  days  were  consumed  in  finishing  the  sails 
and  putting  them  on.  There  were  only  three  —  the  jib, 
foresail,  and  mainsail;  and,  patched,  shortened,  and  dis- 
torted, they  were  a  ridiculously  ill-fitting  suit  for  so  trim 
a  craft  as  the  Ghost. 

"But  they'll  work!"  Maud  cried  jubilantly.  "We'll 
make  them  work,  and  trust  our  lives  to  them ! " 

Certainly,  among  my  many  new  trades,  I  shone  least  as 
a  sail-maker.  I  could  sail  them  better  than  make  them, 
and  I  had  no  doubt  of  my  power  to  bring  the  schooner  to 
some  northern  port  of  Japan.  In  fact,  I  had  crammed 
navigation  from  text-books  aboard ;  and  besides,  there  was 
Wolf  Larsen's  star-scale,  so  simple  a  device  that  a  child 
could  work  it. 

As  for  its  inventor,  beyond  an  increasing  deafness  and 
the  movement  of  the  lips  growing  fainter  and  fainter,  there 
had  been  little  change  in  his  condition  for  a  week.  But 
on  the  day  we  finished  bending  the  schooner's  sails,  he 
heard  his  last,  and  the  last  movement  of  his  lips  died  away 
—  but  not  before  I  had  asked  him,  "  Are  you  all  there  ? " 
and  the  lips  had  answered,  "  Yes." 

The  last  line  was  down.     Somewhere  within  that  tomb 


THE  SEA-WOLF  357 

of  the  flesh  still  dwelt  the  soul  of  the  man.  Walled  by  the 
living  clay,  that  fierce  intelligence  we  had  known  burned 
on;  but  it  burned  on  in  silence  and  darkness.  And  it 
was  disembodied.  To  that  intelligence  there  could  be  no 
objective  knowledge  of  a  body.  It  knew  no  body.  The 
very  world  was  not.  It  knew  only  itself  and  the  vastness 
and  profundity  of  the  quiet  and  the  dark. 


CHAPTER   XXXIX 

THE  day  came  for  our  departure.  There  was  no  longer 
anything  to  detain  us  on  Endeavor  Island.  The  Ghosts 
stumpy  masts  were  in  place,  her  crazy  sails  bent.  All  my 
handiwork  was  strong,  none  of  it  beautiful;  but  I  knew 
that  it  would  work,  and  I  felt  myself  a  man  of  power  as  I 
looked  at  it. 

"  I  did  it !  I  did  it !  With  my  own  hands  I  did  it ! " 
I  wanted  to  cry  aloud. 

But  Maud  and  I  had  a  way  of  voicing  each  other's 
thoughts,  and  she  said,  as  we  prepared  to  hoist  the  main- 
sail: 

"To  think,  Humphrey,  you  did  it  all  with  your  own 
hands ! " 

"  But  there  were  two  other  hands,"  I  answered.  "  Two 
small  hands,  and  don't  say  that  was  a  phrase,  also,  of  your 
father." 

She  laughed  and  shook  her  head,  and  held  her  hands 
up  for  inspection. 

"  I  can  never  get  them  clean  again,"  she  wailed,  "  nor 
soften  the  weather-beat" 

"  Then  dirt  and  weather-beat  shall  be  your  guerdon  of 
honor,"  I  said,  holding  them  in  mine ;  and,  spite  of  my 
resolutions,  I  would  have  kissed  the  two  dear  hands  had 
she  not  swiftly  withdrawn  them. 

Our  comradeship  was  becoming  tremulous.  I  had  mas- 
tered my  love  long  and  well,  but  now  it  was  mastering  me. 
Wilfully  had  it  disobeyed  and  won  my  eyes  to  speech,  and 

358 


THE  SEA-WOLF  355, 

now  it  was  winning  my  tongue  —  ay,  and  my  lips,  for  they 
were  mad  this  moment  to  kiss  the  two  small  hands  which 
had  toiled  so  faithfully  and  hard.  And  I,  too,  was  mad. 
There  was  a  cry  in  my  being  like  bugles  calling  me  to  her. 
And  there  was  a  wind  blowing  upon  me  which  I  could  not 
resist,  swaying  the  very  body  of  me  till  I  leaned  toward 
her,  all  unconscious  that  I  leaned.  And  she  knew  it.  She 
could  not  but  know  it  as  she  swiftly  drew  away  her  hands, 
and  yet  could  not  forbear  one  quick,  searching  look  before 
she  turned  away  her  eyes. 

By  means  of  deck-tackles  I  had  arranged  to  carry  the 
halyards  forward  to  the  windlass ;  and  now  I  hoisted  the 
mainsail,  peak  and  throat,  at  the  same  time.  It  was  a 
clumsy  way,  but  it  did  not  take  long,  and  soon  the  foresail 
as  well  was  up  and  fluttering. 

"We  can  never  get  that  anchor  up  in  this  narrow  place, 
once  it  has  left  the  bottom,"  I  said.  "  We  should  be  on 
the  rocks  first." 

"  What  can  you  do  ? "  she  asked. 

"  Slip  it,"  was  my  answer.  "  And  when  I  do,  you  must 
do  your  first  work  on  the  windlass.  I  shall  have  to  run  at 
once  to  the  wheel,  and  at  the  same  time  you  must  be  hoist- 
ing the  jib." 

This  manoeuvre  of  getting  under  way  I  had  studied  and 
worked  out  a  score  of  times ;  and,  with  the  jib-halyard  to 
the  windlass,  I  knew  Maud  was  capable  of  hoisting  that 
most  necessary  sail.  A  brisk  wind  was  blowing  into  the 
cove,  and  though  the  water  was  calm,  rapid  work  was 
required  to  get  us  safely  out. 

When  I  knocked  the  shackle-bolt  loose,  the  chain  roared 
out  through  the  hawse-hole  and  into  the  sea.  I  raced 
aft,  putting  the  wheel  up.  The  Ghost  seemed  to  start  into 
life  as  she  heeled  to  the  first  fill  of  her  sails.  The  jib  was 


30O  THE  SEA-WOLF 

rising.     As  it  filled,  the  Ghost's  bow  swung  off  and  I  had 
to  put  the  wheel  down  a  few  spokes  and  steady  her. 

I  had  devised  an  automatic  jib-sheet  which  passed  the  jib 
across  of  itself,  so  there  was  no  need  for  Maud  to  attend  to 
that;  but  she  was  still  hoisting  the  jib  when  I  put  the 
wheel  hard  down.  It  was  a  moment  of  anxiety,  for  the 
Ghost  was  rushing  directly  upon  the  beach,  a  stone's  throw 
distant.  But  she  swung  obediently  on  her  heel  into  the 
wind.  There  was  a  great  fluttering  and  flapping  of  canvas 
and  reef-points,  most  welcome  to  my  ears,  then  she  filled 
away  on  the  other  tack. 

Maud  had  finished  her  task  and  come  aft,  where  she 
stood  beside  me,  a  small  cap  perched  on  her  wind-blown 
hair,  her  cheeks  flushed  from  exertion,  her  eyes  wide  and 
bright  with  the  excitement,  her  nostrils  quivering  to  the 
rush  and  bite  of  the  fresh  salt  air.  Her  brown  eyes  were 
like  a  startled  deer's.  There  was  a  wild,  keen  look  in 
them  I  had  never  seen  before,  and  her  lips  parted  and  her 
breath  suspended  as  the  Ghost,  charging  upon  the  wall  of 
rock  at  the  entrance  to  the  inner  cove,  swept  into  the  wind 
and  filled  away  into  safe  water. 

My  first  mate's  berth  on  the  sealing  grounds  stood  me  in 
good  stead,  and  I  cleared  the  inner  cove  and  laid  a  long 
tack  along  the  shore  of  the  outer  cove.  Once  again  about, 
and  the  Ghost  headed  out  to  open  sea.  She  had  now 
caught  the  bosom-breathing  of  the  ocean,  and  was  herself 
a-breath  with  the  rhythm  of  it  as  she  smoothly  mounted 
and  slipped  down  each  broad-backed  wave.  The  day  had 
been  dull  and  overcast,  but  the  sun  now  burst  through  the 
clouds,  a  welcome  omen,  and  shone  upon  the  curving  beach  . 
where  together  we  had  dared  the  lords  of  the  harem  and 
slain  the  holluschickie.  All  Endeavor  Island  brightened 
under  the  sun.  Even  the  grim  southwestern  promontory 


THE  SEA-WOLF  361 

showed  less  grim,  and  here  and  there,  where  the  sea-spray 
wet  its  surface,  high  lights  flashed  and  dazzled  in  the 
sun. 

"  I  shall  always  think  of  it  with  pride,'*  I  said  to  Maud. 

She  threw  her  head  back  in  a  queenly  way,  but  said, 
"  Dear,  dear  Endeavor  Island !  I  shall  always  love  it." 

"  And  I,"  I  said  quickly. 

It  seemed  our  eyes  must  meet  in  a  great  understanding, 
and  yet,  loath,  they  struggled  away  and  did  not  meet. 

There  was  a  silence  I  might  almost  call  awkward,  till  I 
broke  it,  saying : 

"  See  those  black  clouds  to  windward.  You  remember, 
I  told  you  last  night  the  barometer  was  falling." 

"And  the  sun  is  gone,"  she  said,  her  eyes  still  fixed 
upon  our  island,  where  we  had  proved  our  mastery  over 
matter  and  attained  to  the  truest  comradeship  that  may 
fall  to  man  and  woman. 

"  And  it's  slack  off  the  sheets  for  Japan ! "  I  cried  gayly. 
"  A  fair  wind  and  a  flowing  sheet,  you  know,  or  however 
it  goes." 

Lashing  the  wheel,  I  ran  forward,  eased  the  fore  and 
main  sheets,  took  in  on  the  boom-tackles,  and  trimmed 
everything  for  the  quartering  breeze  which  was  ours.  It 
was  a  fresh  breeze,  very  fresh,  but  I  resolved  to  run  as 
long  as  I  dared.  Unfortunately,  when  running  free,  it  is 
impossible  to  lash  the  wheel,  so  I  faced  an  all-night  watch. 
Maud  insisted  on  relieving  me,  but  proved  that  she  had 
not  the  strength  to  steer  in  a  heavy  sea,  even  if  she  could 
have  gained  the  wisdom  on  such  short  notice.  She  ap- 
peared quite  heart-broken  over  the  discovery,  but  recov- 
ered her  spirits  by  coiling  down  tackles  and  halyards  and 
all  stray  ropes.  Then  there  were  meals  to  be  cooked  in 
the  galley,  beds  to  make,  Wolf  Larsen  to  be  attended 


362  THE  SEA-WOLF 

upon,  and  she  finished  the  day  with  a  grand  house-cleaning 
attack  upon  the  cabin  and  steerage. 

All  night  I  steered,  without  relief,  the  wind  slowly  and 
steadily  increasing  and  the  sea  rising.  At  five  in  the 
morning  Maud  brought  me  hot  coffee  and  biscuits  she 
had  baked,  and  at  seven  a  substantial  and  piping  hot 
breakfast  put  new  life  into  me. 

Throughout  the  day,  and  as  slowly  and  steadily  as 
ever,  the  wind  increased.  It  impressed  one  with  its  sullen 
determination  to  blow,  and  blow  harder,  and  keep  on  blow- 
ing. And  still  the  Ghost  foamed  along,  racing  off  the 
miles  till  I  was  certain  she  was  making  at  least  eleven 
knots.  It  was  too  good  to  lose,  but  by  nightfall  I  was 
exhausted.  Though  in  splendid  physical  trim,  a  thirty-six- 
hour  trick  at  the  wheel  was  the  limit  of  my  endurance. 
Besides,  Maud  begged  me  to  heave  to,  and  I  knew,  if  the 
wind  and  sea  increased  at  the  same  rate  during  the  night, 
that  it  would  soon  be  impossible  to  heave  to.  So,  as  twi- 
light deepened,  gladly  and  at  the  same  time  reluctantly, 
I  brought  the  Ghost  up  on  the  wind. 

But  I  had  not  reckoned  upon  the  colossal  task  the 
reefing  of  three  sails  meant  for  one  man.  While  running 
away  from  the  wind  I  had  not  appreciated  its  force,  but 
when  we  ceased  to  run  I  learned  to  my  sorrow,  and  well- 
nigh  to  my  despair,  how  fiercely  it  was  really  blowing. 
The  wind  balked  my  every  effort,  ripping  the  canvas  out 
of  my  hands  and  in  an  instant  undoing  what  I  had  gained 
by  ten  minutes  of  severest  struggle.  At  eight  o'clock  I 
had  succeeded  only  in  putting  the  second  reef  into  the 
foresail.  At  eleven  o'clock  I  was  no  farther  along.  Blood 
dripped  from  every  finger  end,  while  the  nails  were  broken 
to  the  quick.  From  pain  and  sheer  exhaustion  I  wept  in 
the  darkness,  secretly,  so  that  Maud  should  not  know. 


THE  SEA-WOLF  363 

Then,  in  desperation,  I  abandoned  the  attempt  to  reef 
the  mainsail  and  resolved  to  try  the  experiment  of  heaving 
to  under  the  close-reefed  foresail.  Three  hours  more  were 
required  to  gasket  the  mainsail  and  jib,  and  at  two  in  the 
morning,  nearly  dead,  the  life  almost  buffeted  and  worked 
out  of  me,  I  had  barely  sufficient  consciousness  to  know 
the  experiment  was  a  success.  The  close-reefed  foresail 
worked.  The  Ghost  clung  on  close  to  the  wind  and  be- 
trayed no  inclination  to  fall  off  broadside  to  the  trough. 

I  was  famished,  but  Maud  tried  vainly  to  get  me  to  eat. 
I  dozed  with  my  mouth  full  of  food.  I  would  fall  asleep 
in  the  act  of  carryings-food  to  my  mouth  and  waken  in 
torment  to  find  the  act  yet  uncompleted.  So  sleepily  help- 
less was  I  that  she  was  compelled  to  hold  me  in  my  chair  to 
prevent  my  being  flung  to  the  floor  by  the  violent  pitching 
of  the  schooner. 

Of  the  passage  from  the  galley  to  the  cabin  I  knew 
nothing.  It  was  a  sleep-walker  Maud  guided  and  sup- 
ported. In  fact,  I  was  aware  of  nothing  till  I  awoke,  how 
long  after  I  could  not  imagine,  in  my  bunk  with  my  boots 
off.  It  was  dark.  I  was  stiff  and  lame,  and  cried  out 
with  pain  when  the  bed-clothes  touched  my  poor  finger- 
ends. 

Morning  had  evidently  not  come,  so  I  closed  my  eyes 
and  went  to  sleep  again.  I  did  not  know  it,  but  I  had 
slept  the  clock  around  and  it  was  night  again. 

Once  more  I  woke,  troubled  because  I  could  sleep  no 
better.  I  struck  a  match  and  looked  at  my  watch.  It 
marked  midnight.  And  I  had  not  left  the  deck  until  three  ! 
I  should  have  been  puzzled  had  I  not  guessed  the  solution. 
No  wonder  I  was  sleeping  brokenly.  I  had  slept  twenty-one 
hours.  I  listened  for  a  while  to  the  behavior  of  the  Ghost, 
to  the  pounding  of  the  seas  and  the  mufHed  roar  of  the 


364  THE  SEA-WOLF 

wind  on  deck,  and  then  turned  over  on  my  side  and  slept 
peacefully  until  morning. 

When  I  arose  at  seven  I  saw  no  sign  of  Maud  and  con- 
cluded she  was  in  the  galley  preparing  breakfast.  On 
deck  I  found  the  Ghost  doing  splendidly  under  her  patch 
of  canvas.  But  in  the  galley,  though  a  fire  was  burning 
and  water  boiling,  I  found  no  Maud. 

I  discovered  her  in  the  steerage,  by  Wolf  Larsen's 
bunk.  I  looked  at  him,  the  man  who  had  been  hurled 
down  from  the  topmost  pitch  of  life  to  be  buried  alive  and 
be  worse  than  dead.  There  seemed  a  relaxation  of  his 
expressionless  face  which  was  new.  Maud  looked  at  me 
and  I  understood. 

"  His  life  flickered  out  in  the  storm,"  I  said. 

"  But  he  still  lives,"  she  answered,  infinite  faith  in  her 
voice. 

"  He  had  too  great  strength." 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  but  now  it  no  longer  shackles  him. 
He  is  a  free  spirit." 

"He  is  a  free  spirit  surely,"  I  answered;  and,  taking 
her  hand,  I  led  her  on  deck. 

The  storm  broke  that  night,  which  is  to  say  that  it 
diminished  as  slowly  as  it  had  arisen.  After  breakfast 
next  morning,  when  I  had  hoisted  Wolf  Larsen's  body  on 
deck  ready  for  burial,  it  was  still  blowing  heavily  and  a 
large  sea  was  running.  The  deck  was  continually  awash 
with  the  sea  which  came  inboard  over  the  rail  and  through 
the  scuppers.  The  wind  smote  the  schooner  with  a  sud- 
den gust,  and  she  heeled  over  till  her  lee  rail  was  buried, 
the  roar  in  her  rigging  rising  in  pitch  to  a  shriek.  We 
stood  in  the  water  to  our  knees  as  I  bared  my  head. 

"  I  remember  only  one  part  of  the  service,"  I  said,  "  and 
that  is,  '  And  the  body  shall  be  cast  into  the  sea/  " 


THE  SEA-WOLF  365 

Maud  looked  at  me,  surprised  and  shocked ;  but  the 
spirit  of  something  I  had  seen  before  was  strong  upon  me, 
impelling  me  to  give  service  to  Wolf  Larsen  as  Wolf 
Larsen  had  once  given  service  to  another  man.  I  lifted 
the  end  of  the  hatch  cover,  and  the  canvas-shrouded  body 
slipped  feet  first  into  the  sea.  The  weight  of  iron  dragged 
it  down.  It  was  gone. 

"Good-by,  Lucifer,  proud  spirit,"  Maud  whispered,  so 
low  that  it  was  drowned  by  the  shouting  of  the  wind ;  but 
I  saw  the  movement  of  her  lips  and  knew. 

As  we  clung  to  the  lee  rail  and  worked  our  way  aft,  I 
happened  to  glance  to  leeward.  The  Ghost,  at  the  mo- 
ment, was  uptossed  oh  a  sea,  and  I  caught  a  clear  view  of  a 
small  steamship  two  or  three  miles  away,  rolling  and  pitching, 
head  on  to  the  sea,  as  it  steamed  toward  us.  It  was  painted 
black,  and  from  the  talk  of  the  hunters  of  their  poaching 
exploits  I  recognized  it  as  a  United  States  revenue  cutter. 
I  pointed  it  out  to  Maud  and  hurriedly  led  her  aft  to  the 
safety  of  the  poop. 

I  started  to  rush  below  to  the  flag-locker,  then  remem- 
bered that  in  rigging  the  Ghost  I  had"  forgotten  to  make 
provision  for  a  flag-halyard. 

"  We  need  no  distress  signal,"  Maud  said.  "  They  have 
only  to  see  us." 

"We  are  saved,"  I  said,  soberly  and  solemnly.  And 
then,  in  an  exuberance  of  joy,  "  I  hardly  know  whether 
to  be  glad  or  not." 

I  looked  at  her.  Our  eyes  were  not  loath  to  meet.  We 
leaned  toward  each  other,  and  before  I  knew  it  my  arms 
were  about  her. 

"Need  I?"  I  asked. 

And  she  answered,  "  There  is  no  need,  though  the  tell 
ing  of  it  would  be  sweet,  so  sweet" 


366  THE  SEA-WOLF 

Her  lips  met  the  press  of  mine,  and,  by  what  strange 
trick  of  the  imagination  I  know  not,  the  scene  in  the  cabin 
of  the  Ghost  flashed  upon  me,  when  she  had  pressed  her 
fingers  lightly  on  my  lips  and  said,  "  Hush,  hush." 

"  My  woman,  my  one  small  woman,"  I  said,  my  free 
hand  petting  her  shoulder  in  the  way  all  lovers  know 
though  never  learn  in  school. 

"  My  man,"  she  said,  looking  at  me  for  an  instant  with 
tremulous  lids  which  fluttered  down  and  veiled  her  eyes  as 
she! snuggled  her  head  against  my  breast  with  a  happy 
little  sigh. 

I  looked  toward  the  cutter.  It  was  very  close.  A  boat 
was  being  lowered. 

"  One  kiss,  dear  love,"  I  whispered.  "  One  kiss  more 
before  they  come." 

"And  rescue  us  from  ourselves,"  she  completed,  with 
a  most  adorable  smile,  whimsical  as  I  had  never  seen  it, 
for  it  was  whimsical  with  love. 


HERETOFORE     PUBLISHED     AT     £1.50 

NOVELS    BY   JACK    LONDON 

I2MO.,   CLOTH,   75    CENTS  EACH,   POSTPAID 

THE   CALL  OF   THE  WILD 

With  Illustrations  by  Philip  R.  Goodwin  and  Charles  Livingston  Bull 
Decorated  by  Charles  Edward  Hopper 

"A  tale  that  is  literature  .  .  .  the  unity  of  its  plan 
and  the  firmness  of  its  execution  are  equally  remarkable 
...  a  story  that  grips  the  reader  deeply.  It  is  art,  it 

is  literature It  stands  apart,  far  apart  with 

so  much  skill,  so  much  reasonableness,  so  much  convinc- 
ing logic." — N.  T.  Mail  and  Express. 

"A  big  story  in  sober  English,  and  with  thorough  art 
in  the  construction  ...  a  wonderfully  perfect  bit  of 
work.  The  dog  adventures  are  as  exciting  as  any  man's 
exploits  could  be,  and  Mr.  London's  workmanship  is 
wholly  satisfying. " — The  New  York  Sun. 

"  The  story  is  one  that  will  stir  the  blood  of  every 
lover  of  a  life  in  its  closest  relation  to  nature.  Whoever 
loves  the  open  or  adventure  for  its  own  sake  will  find 
'The  Call  of  the  Wild*  a  most  fascinating  book." — . 
The  Brooklyn  Eagle. 

THE   SEA   WOLF 

Illustrated  by  W.  J.  Aylward 

"This  story  surely  has  the  pure  Stevenson  ring,  the 
adventurous  glamour,  the  vertebrate  stoicism.  'Tis  surely 
the  story  of  the  making  of  a  man,  the  sculptor  being 
Captain  Larsen,  and  the  clay,  the  ease-loving,  well-to-do, 
half-drowned  man,  to  all  appearances  his  helpless  prey." 
—  Critic. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  PUBLISHERS 
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VIA  CRUCIS  :  A   Romance  of  the  Second  Crusade. 

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Mr.  Crawford  has  manifestly  brought  his  best  qualities 
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IN  THE  PALACE  OF  THE  KING  :  A  Love  Story 

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POPULAR   PRICED   EDITIONS    OF    BOOKS 
BY 

LOUIS    TRACY 

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Books  that  make  the  nerves  tingle — romance  and  ad- 
venture of  the  best  type — wholesome   for  family  reading 


THE  PILLAR  OF  LIGHT 

"  Breathless  interest  is  a  hackneyed  phrase,  but  every 
reader  of  «  The  Pillar  of  Light '  who  has  red  blood  in 
his  or  her  veins,  will  agree  that  the  trite  saying  applies  to 
the  attention  which  this  story  commands. — New  York  Sun. 

THE  WINGS  OF  THE  MORNING 

• '  Here  is  a  story  filled  with  the  swing  of  adventure. 
There  are  no  dragging  intervals  in  this  volume  :  from  the 
moment  of  their  landing  on  the  island  until  the  rescuing 
crew  find  them  there,  there  is  not  a  dull  moment  for  the 
young  people — nor  for  the  reader  either." — New  York 
Times. 

THE  KING  OF  DIAMONDS 

««  Verily,  Mr.  Tracy  is  a  prince  of  story-tellers.  His 
charm  is  a  little  hard  to  describe,  but  it  is  as  definite  as 
that  of  a  rainbow.  The  reader  is  carried  along  bv  the 
robust  imagination  of  the  author. — San  Francisco  Exam- 
iner. 


GROSSET    &     DUNLAP,    PUBLISHERS 

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New  and  Cheaper  Editions  of  Books  by 

Mr.  Hamilton  Mabie 

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PARABLES   OF  LIFE 

Poetic  in  conception,  vivid  and  true  in  imagery,  deli- 
cately clear  and  pure  in  diction,  these  little  pieces  belong 
to  Mr.  Mabie' s  finest  and  strongest  work. — HENRY  VAN 
DYKE. 

WILLIAM  SHAKESPEARE 

Poet,  Dramatiit,  Man 

Professor  F.  H.  Stoddard  speaks  01  this  work  as 
"  almost  unique  in  Shakespeare  literature,  in  it  that  is  a 
continuous  and  thoroughly  worked  out  study  of  the  whole 
personality  of  Shakespeare." 

A  BOOK  OF  OLD  ENGLISH  LOVE  SONGS 

Edited  by  Hamilton  Mabie.  Superbly  illustrated  with 
Drawings  and  Decorations  by  George  Wharton  Edwards. 

One  of  the  daintiest  specimens  of  bookmaking,  designed  to  serve 
both  as  a  gift  book  and  work  of  reference. 

A  BOOK  OF  OLD  ENGLISH  BALLADS 

Edited  by  Hamilton  Mabie.  Superbly  illustrated  with 
Drawings  and  Decorations  by  George  Wharton  Edwards. 

"  The  aim  has  been  to  bring,  within  moderate  compass,  a  collec- 
tion of  the  songs  of  the  people. — Extract  from  Introduction. 

GROSSET    &     DUNLAP,    PUBLISHERS 
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BREWSTER'S    MILLIONS 

BY 

GEORGE    BARR    McCUTCHEON 


hero  is  a  young  New  Yorker  of  good  parts  who, 
to  save  an  inheritance  of  seven  millions,  starts  out  to 
spend  a  fortune  of  one  million  within  a  year.  An  eccen- 
tric uncle,  ignorant  of  the  earlier  legacy,  leaves  him 
seven  millions  to  be  delivered  at  the  expiration  of  a  year, 
on  the  condition  that  at  that  time  he  is  penniless,  and 
has  proven  himself  a  capable  business  man,  able  to 
manage  his  own  affairs.  The  problem  that  confronts 
Brewster  is  to  spend  his  legacy  without  proving  himself 
either  reckless  or  dissipated.  He  has  ideas  about  the  dis- 
position of  the  seven  millions  which  are  not  those  of  the 
uncle  when  he  tried  to  supply  an  alternative  in  case  the 
nephew  failed  him.  His  adventures  in  pursuit  of  poverty 
are  decidedly  of  an  unusual  kind,  and  his  disappoint- 
ments are  funny  in  quite  a  new  way.  The  situation  is 
developed  with  an  immense  amount  of  humor. 


OTHER  BOOKS  BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR: 
GRAUSTARK,  The  Story  of  a  Love  behind  a  Throne. 
CASTLE  CRANEYCROW.       THE  SHERRODS. 

Handsome  cloth  hound  volumes,  75  cents  each. 

At  all  Booksellers,  or  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price  by 
the  Publishers. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP    ::    NEW  YORK 


CHECKERS 

A  Hard  Luck  Story 

By  HENRY  M.  BLOSSOM,  JR. 
Author  of  ttTht  Documents  in  Evidence** 


Abounds  in  the  most  racy  and  picturesque  slang. — N. 
T.  Recorder. 

"Checkers"  is  an  interesting  and  entertaining  chap, 
a  distinct  type,  with  a  separate  tongue  and  a  way  of 
saying  things  that  is  oddly  humorous. — Chicago  Record. 

If  I  had  to  ride  from  New  York  to  Chicago  on  a  slow 
train,  I  should  like  a  half-dozen  books  as  gladsome  as 
•'Checkers"  and  I  could  laugh  at  the  trip. — N.  T.  Com- 
mercial Advertiser. 

"Checkers"  himself  is  as  distinct  a  creation  as  Chim- 
mie  Fadden  and  his  racy  slang  expresses  a  livelier  wit. 
The  racing  part  is  clever  reporting  and  as  horsey  and 
"up-to-date"  as  any  one  could  ask.  The  slang  of  the 
race-course  is  caught  with  skill  and  is  vivid  and  pictur- 
esque, and  students  of  the  byways  of  language  may  find 
some  new  gems  of  colloquial  speach  to  add  to  their  lexi- 
cons.— Springfield  Republican. 


A  new  popular  edition  just  issued,  in  attractive  cloth 
binding,  small  i2mo  in  size.     Price,  75  cents,  postpaid. 


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THE    POPULAR   NOVELS  Of1 

A.  W.  MARCHMONT 

NOW  OFFERED  IN  HANDSOMELY  MADE 
CLOTH  BOUND  EDITIONS  AT  LOW  PRICES 

Few  writers  of  recent  years  have  achieved  such  a  wide 
popularity  in  this  particular  field  as  has  Mr.  Marchmont. 
For  rattling  good  stories  of  love,  intrigue,  adventure, 
plots  and  counter-plots,  we  know  of  nothing  better,  and 
to  the  reader  who  has  become  surfeited  with  the  analyti- 
cal and  so-called  historical  novels  of  the  day,  we  heartily 
commend  them.  There  is  life,  movement,  animation, 
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make  you  forget  your  troubles. 

The  following  five  volumes  are   now  ready   in  our 
popular  copyright  series: 

BY  RIGHT  OF  SWORD 

With  illustrations  by  POWELL  CHASE. 

A  DASH  FOR  A  THRONE 

With  illustrations  by  D.  MURRAY  SMITH. 

MISER  HOADLEY'S  SECRET 

With  illustrations  by  CLARE  ANGELL. 

THE  PRICE  OF  FREEDOM 

With  illustrations  by  CLARE  ANGELL. 

THE  HERITAGE  OF  PERIL 

With  illustrations  by  EDITH  LESLIE  LANG. 
Large  I  2 mo  in  size,  handsomely  bound  in  cloth, 

uniform  in  style. 
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Tales  of  the  Ex-Tanks 

A  BOOK  OF  HARD  LUCK  STORIES 
By  CLARENCE  LOUIS  CULLEN 

Under  the  above  title  we  have  published  a  volume  of 
stories — or  sketches — that  treat  of  the  Sf strenuous  life" 
from  the  viewpoint  of  men  who  have  been  up  against  the 
real  thing. 

It  is  a  book  of  tales  of  good  fellows  who  have  won  out 
from  many  odd  and  humorous  predicaments,  in  many- 
sections  of  the  United  States,  after  having  played  too 
assiduous  tag  with  the  Flagon,  likewise  the  Tankard, 
similarly  the  Bowl;  and  if,  after  reading  this  book,  you 
will  not  conclude  that  there  is  no  old  rummy  game  of 
hard  luck  from  which  a  man  of  fair  wit  can't  win  out  with 
an  even  break — then  we'll  stand  for  a  correction;  that's  all. 

From  the  Chief  Ex-Tank  down  to  No.  1 3,  the  Hoodoo 
Ex-Tank,  they  are  all  live  ones;  and  they're  all  stake 
class.  If  you've  ever  got  a  solar  plexus  or  an  uppercut 
from  the  mallet-like  fist  of  that  top-notch  heavyweight  of 
them  all — Hard  Luck — these  reminiscences  of  the  Ex- 
Tanks  will  cause  you  to  revert  to  such  personal  expe- 
riences with  a  sense  of  mellow  recognition. 

We  don't  believe  that  a  better  book  of  tales  for  the 
man  of  to-day  has  yet  been  published. 

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Town  Topics  says  ^  "The  book  is  full  of  laughter. 
No  student  to  American  slang  can  afford  to  pass  it  by." 


A         BEAUTIFUL          BOOK 

LORNA       DOONE 

EXMOOR  EDITION.        By  R.  D.  BLACKMORE 

A  large  12  mo  volume,  about  5^x8^  inches  in  size, 
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excellent  quality,  and  embellished  with  over  two  hundred 
and  fifty  drawings,  initial  letters,  head  and  tail  pieces,  etc., 
by  some  of  the  best  American  Artists,  among  whom  are 
Henry  Sandham,  George  Wharton  Edwards,  W.  H. 
Drake,  Harry  Fenn,  and  Wm.  Hamilton  Gibson.  Un- 
doubtedly the  most  elaborate  and  expensively  printed 
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at  a  moderate  price. 

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PRICE  Two  DOLLARS  PER  SET. 

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PRICE  FIVE  DOLLARS  PER  SET. 

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Rubaiyat     of    Omar     Khayyam 

Rendered  into  English  verse  by  Edward  Fitzgerald,  A 
correct  version  of  the  text  of  the  Fourth  Edition,  with 
accurate  notes,  a  biography  of  both  Omar  and  Fitzger- 
ald, and  a  Poetical  Tribute  by  Andrew  Lang,  together 
with  a  remarkable  descriptive  and  comparative  article  by 
Edward  S.  Holden.  Beautifully  printed  in  two  colors  on 
deckel  edge  paper,  with  decorative  borders,  fourteen 
half-tone  illustrations  by  Gilbert  James,  and  a  portrait  of 
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THE  SAME,  small  1 2mo  in  size,  exquisitely  bound  in 
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PRICE,  $1.00. 

THE  SAME,  in  booklet  form,  24  pages,  printed  in  two 
colors,  the  complete  text  of  the  fourth  edition.  PRICE,  1 5c0 

KIPLING'S  POEMS,  BARRACK  ROOM 
BALLADS,  DEPARTMENTAL  DITTIES,  ETC. 

Two  volumes  in  one,  with  glossary  0  Fourteen  full-page 
pen-and-ink  drawings  together  with  a  new  portrait  of  the 
author.  Handsomely  bound  in  cloth,  gilt  tops,  and 
printed  on  old  Chester  antique  deckel  edge  paper.  Size, 

->  34°  Pages-     PRICE>  $l-5°- 
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